My dad used to say his mother had always told him he was lucky. He took it to heart and it became a sort of default expectation within him that things would go in his favor, right into adulthood. As a devout Catholic in his later years, he identified all the ways and times God had saved his life. I’m not into the notion he was singled out as special, but I do think the attitude he adopted affected how his life experiences unfolded.
It manifested in all sorts of ways beyond life-saving, like despite being a non-drinker, he routinely won pint of whiskey door prizes and other “put your name on a paper and drop it into the jar for a prize” contests. It was so conspicuous sometimes my mom wrote HIS name on the entries instead of her own. If someone lost something, invariably he would be able to find it. It was as if, when he set his energy into the proper space, things were more likely than not to blossom.
I like to think of it as a “frame of mind” he’d put himself in, not a hyper-focus but a unique balance of awareness with a non-rational space of acceptance and trust. I think it’s related to a certain type of openness. My intuitive artist friend Jane Lillian Vance recently shared a tale about synchronicity, something about which nearly everyone seems to have a story. I mentioned I think synchronicity is the unmasking of the interconnectedness we all share with each other and all life, and is simply a moment where this fuller reality is briefly unveiled.
Anyway, years ago I happily began to adopt my dad’s attitude that I too am lucky. Though I can’t say it’s absolute, if nothing else it does make life seem more exciting and challenges less stressful; for sure I feel more at ease. Unplanned gifts have certainly often come toward me. Somehow, especially when travelling.
Despite some hesitations this year, I once again chose to make the trek to visit good friends and the beautiful lands of Kenya. I have planned a brief stay afterward in Amsterdam, so ended up with two airlines and four flights to get to Kenya. By the halfway point I was already feeling a bit worn. A friendly young lady, Fenne, had the seat next to mine. I’ve learned a long flight can be much more pleasant with good conversation, especially when you have several such flights in a row.
As the plane prepared to depart Amsterdam for Qatar, we shared our final destinations: Nairobi for me, Jakarta, Indonesia for her. I guessed she was a student. She was from Amsterdam, and had a degree in the social sciences, but had been working full time as a chef. She was taking a two-month excursion, on her own, to explore a bit of the land from where her grandfather had come. She had an air of informal warmth and gentle self-confidence, and in many ways was impressive.
She was bright, curious, reflective and articulate well beyond her 23 years. It fit that she’d already spent six months in Bangkok, Thailand as a student, as I feel travel and getting outside of one’s culture often matures us in ways nothing else can. She planned to attend grad school but wanted to fit in this journey first. When I asked what she was most excited to study, she hinted at concern she had too many interests, and listed several things related to social justice issues, like the challenges of those less fortunate, environmental concerns, and womens’ empowerment in what was still often a patriarchal world.
She liked travelling not because of an interest in “the big cities or touristy things” but enjoyed meeting and spending time with local folks. Of course I related, and shared about my Kenyan experiences with Alfajiri, the non-profit that works to guide young people trapped in the slums to their fuller potentials. I suggested such a courageous trip would help reveal to her where she might focus after, but that always staying open to changes of careers or interests was key to staying vital.
It occurred to me what a delightful gift it was exchanging thoughts with this inspiring and sincere young person. Like my son, is fiancée, my nieces and nephews and so many other young folks, she was looking to apply herself in an earnest and compassionate way in making our very complex and challenging world better for us all.
Fellow passengers had filled most of the seats, before Fenne and I had begun to get acquainted. We’d barely said hello when a kerfuffle of some sort began taking place in the row behind us. An older fellow my age was standing in the aisle. He raised his voice and was becoming anxious as an attendant firmly tried to explain a problem. The white-haired gent was travelling with a daughter and son in law. Soon a more supervisory flight attendant was called and seemed to be saying he would have to leave the plane unless he could provide his documents (boarding pass and passports).
The man was trying to contain his growing frustration, explaining he had obviously shown both upon entering the ramp to the plane, and again upon stepping onto the plane. He insisted they HAD to be along his path, or on board somewhere. Now his family was frantically searching backpacks, seat pockets, and between cushions. Soon some of us began glancing around, looking under our seats, relating to the understandable panic of missing a long trip due to some innocently misplaced forms.
The Qatar Airlines staff were trying to be patient but now the plane was full and 300 passengers were seated, so they were pressed against keeping the flight on time. Exasperated, the senior man was scanning all over and walked hurriedly to the section between our area and the plane’s entry door and pleaded aloud to the crowd “Please look for a passport and boarding pass!” just before they escorted him off the plane.
Just after, his son in law was on his hands and knees in the aisle adjacent me, looking under the rows of seats. For the briefest instant I was reminded of my dad, hunting on his hands and knees for lost keys or jewelry when I was a kid. A minute later his daughter made another circuit and pointed out the route he had walked up that same aisle, then through the row behind Fenne and I.
A passenger in that row suggested maybe he’d dropped them into his luggage? I looked at Fenne and we both dug into the seat pocket in front of us but only found airline safety procedures. I felt terrible for the old guy. I heard the jet engines warming.
Without thinking, I felt compelled to get up and opened the overhead compartment where I had stowed my bag and jacket. I lifted and shoved my things aside, moved someone’s gift bag, and suddenly spied a compact maroon bifold — a passport — and some small sheets of paper. “Wait! Here! They’re here!” And passed them to the nearest attendant who raced to the front of the plane and out the door as another grabbed a phone. A moment later our fellow passenger, looking much-relieved, hurried back to his seat, and we were in the skies headed to Doha, Qatar. And so began another lucky adventure for us all.
It manifested in all sorts of ways beyond life-saving, like despite being a non-drinker, he routinely won pint of whiskey door prizes and other “put your name on a paper and drop it into the jar for a prize” contests. It was so conspicuous sometimes my mom wrote HIS name on the entries instead of her own. If someone lost something, invariably he would be able to find it. It was as if, when he set his energy into the proper space, things were more likely than not to blossom.
I like to think of it as a “frame of mind” he’d put himself in, not a hyper-focus but a unique balance of awareness with a non-rational space of acceptance and trust. I think it’s related to a certain type of openness. My intuitive artist friend Jane Lillian Vance recently shared a tale about synchronicity, something about which nearly everyone seems to have a story. I mentioned I think synchronicity is the unmasking of the interconnectedness we all share with each other and all life, and is simply a moment where this fuller reality is briefly unveiled.
Anyway, years ago I happily began to adopt my dad’s attitude that I too am lucky. Though I can’t say it’s absolute, if nothing else it does make life seem more exciting and challenges less stressful; for sure I feel more at ease. Unplanned gifts have certainly often come toward me. Somehow, especially when travelling.
Despite some hesitations this year, I once again chose to make the trek to visit good friends and the beautiful lands of Kenya. I have planned a brief stay afterward in Amsterdam, so ended up with two airlines and four flights to get to Kenya. By the halfway point I was already feeling a bit worn. A friendly young lady, Fenne, had the seat next to mine. I’ve learned a long flight can be much more pleasant with good conversation, especially when you have several such flights in a row.
As the plane prepared to depart Amsterdam for Qatar, we shared our final destinations: Nairobi for me, Jakarta, Indonesia for her. I guessed she was a student. She was from Amsterdam, and had a degree in the social sciences, but had been working full time as a chef. She was taking a two-month excursion, on her own, to explore a bit of the land from where her grandfather had come. She had an air of informal warmth and gentle self-confidence, and in many ways was impressive.
She was bright, curious, reflective and articulate well beyond her 23 years. It fit that she’d already spent six months in Bangkok, Thailand as a student, as I feel travel and getting outside of one’s culture often matures us in ways nothing else can. She planned to attend grad school but wanted to fit in this journey first. When I asked what she was most excited to study, she hinted at concern she had too many interests, and listed several things related to social justice issues, like the challenges of those less fortunate, environmental concerns, and womens’ empowerment in what was still often a patriarchal world.
She liked travelling not because of an interest in “the big cities or touristy things” but enjoyed meeting and spending time with local folks. Of course I related, and shared about my Kenyan experiences with Alfajiri, the non-profit that works to guide young people trapped in the slums to their fuller potentials. I suggested such a courageous trip would help reveal to her where she might focus after, but that always staying open to changes of careers or interests was key to staying vital.
It occurred to me what a delightful gift it was exchanging thoughts with this inspiring and sincere young person. Like my son, is fiancée, my nieces and nephews and so many other young folks, she was looking to apply herself in an earnest and compassionate way in making our very complex and challenging world better for us all.
Fellow passengers had filled most of the seats, before Fenne and I had begun to get acquainted. We’d barely said hello when a kerfuffle of some sort began taking place in the row behind us. An older fellow my age was standing in the aisle. He raised his voice and was becoming anxious as an attendant firmly tried to explain a problem. The white-haired gent was travelling with a daughter and son in law. Soon a more supervisory flight attendant was called and seemed to be saying he would have to leave the plane unless he could provide his documents (boarding pass and passports).
The man was trying to contain his growing frustration, explaining he had obviously shown both upon entering the ramp to the plane, and again upon stepping onto the plane. He insisted they HAD to be along his path, or on board somewhere. Now his family was frantically searching backpacks, seat pockets, and between cushions. Soon some of us began glancing around, looking under our seats, relating to the understandable panic of missing a long trip due to some innocently misplaced forms.
The Qatar Airlines staff were trying to be patient but now the plane was full and 300 passengers were seated, so they were pressed against keeping the flight on time. Exasperated, the senior man was scanning all over and walked hurriedly to the section between our area and the plane’s entry door and pleaded aloud to the crowd “Please look for a passport and boarding pass!” just before they escorted him off the plane.
Just after, his son in law was on his hands and knees in the aisle adjacent me, looking under the rows of seats. For the briefest instant I was reminded of my dad, hunting on his hands and knees for lost keys or jewelry when I was a kid. A minute later his daughter made another circuit and pointed out the route he had walked up that same aisle, then through the row behind Fenne and I.
A passenger in that row suggested maybe he’d dropped them into his luggage? I looked at Fenne and we both dug into the seat pocket in front of us but only found airline safety procedures. I felt terrible for the old guy. I heard the jet engines warming.
Without thinking, I felt compelled to get up and opened the overhead compartment where I had stowed my bag and jacket. I lifted and shoved my things aside, moved someone’s gift bag, and suddenly spied a compact maroon bifold — a passport — and some small sheets of paper. “Wait! Here! They’re here!” And passed them to the nearest attendant who raced to the front of the plane and out the door as another grabbed a phone. A moment later our fellow passenger, looking much-relieved, hurried back to his seat, and we were in the skies headed to Doha, Qatar. And so began another lucky adventure for us all.
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