In Italian even the word impatient sounds romantic, impaciento. This is what my nanny called me, while my twin sister, inevitably, was the patient one. I am old enough now to know I have suffered under the spells of certain personality traits, or defects as they call them in AA, impatience, impulsiveness and could be said to have taken their toll, but, as a left leaning Californian with ample self improvement opportunities, Im working on it.
My trip to Colorado was going to be a long one and how better to practice patience than a ten hour trip? I had a forty five minute wait to board and then about four hours ahead in the air, three at DAX and then another sixty minute flight and a 45 minute drive up the mountain and Id be breathing fresh air at 10,000 feet. I exhaled slowly to push away my anxiety of being trapped, and I pulled out my iPhone. I downloaded ten hours worth of PodCasts: Spanish Obsessed, Hidden Brain, Awareness Explorers with Jonathan Robinson, Making Sense.
It was 5:00pm when we landed in Denver. The flight had been delayed, but it was of little consequence as it
merely shortened the three hour layover to two. I watched the passengers deplane as I stood at the gate considering if studying Spanish or reading my book would hold more sway than the lure of an airport bar.
I dont know why they always put us at the back of the train, Lu, she was saying to her baby. The baby was blonde, like her mother, though her mothers hair was streaked with purple and her starchy hair jutted out from dark roots, which could have been died that way, this being a look that the black army boots with silver sparkles that caught the light more than you think they would.
The baby looked to be about a year old and her eyes were bright and inquisitive. She gazed at her mother, seemingly quite at ease with the load her mother continued to shift around her slight weight (was she much over a hundred pounds?). She lowered the jet black round sunglasses from the top of her head to conceal her eyes as she walked by. I could see the emboldened outline of a woman- goddess perhaps- on her shoulder, a flower halo winding ink all the way down this young womans arm terminating at her delicate wrist ringed with ebullient floral life. I turned away, having realized I was staring.
My stomach was a little funny and so for once the bar lost to the book and I found myself a row of chairs facing one of the runways and I settled into my story about two migrants from Syria. Gunnison was a brief 40 minute flight- once in the air, but getting into the air proved tricky. Ten minutes before departure, later than the proposed boarding time, a flight attendant announced a 40 minute delay. I inquired about it, knowing that the plane in from Duluth some two hours earlier. She explained that there had been some confusion and the plane had simply not been brought to the gate. They were bringing it over right now, she assured us. Thirty minutes later, we boarded, greeted by the pilot who assured us that it was a short flight, and there was nothing to worry about. into Gunnison a little after 9pm. I buckled in, clicked play, reclined my seat the full inch and a half that the seat allows, and closed my eyes.
You can change your story and your happiness, the host of the Awareness Explorers podcast assured me. There are only a few stories, he was saying, and once you know that you can turn it around. Most everything we think is right or wrong is based on a story about being seen as better or getting ahead in some way. I settled in and watched the clouds rolling below us. The flight was turbulent, but I was coping well. The mind isnt very creative, it wants up with the same thing, but you can turn it around.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Ill have you on the ground in about fifteen minutes. We appreciate your patience tonight. The temperature in Gunnison I shifted my attention back to the show. The host was talking about life happening, neutrally.
