Yesterday was a first. Michael, Jacob and I drove together to the airport, and then they got on one plane going in one direction, and I got on a different plane, going in another. We said our goodbyes at the gate--my men and I--and then I engaged in a process which has become increasingly second nature to me over the last few years. First, I settled in my seat, feeling edgy, a bit anxious, fearful, my mind full of "what-ifs", but instead of succumbing to those feelings, I closed my eyes.
May you be safe, may you be happy, may you be strong, may you live with ease -- I repeated silently, again and again as my plane took off. Safe, happy, strong, live with ease -- over and over again, thinking about my husband and son. I knew I wasn't praying--not exactly--but rather, expressing a wish, a fervent wish, that we all have safe travels. What else is there to do, really, but express these wishes? Earlier in the week, I had spoken with a wise friend who does a lot of traveling, who is constantly on planes heading away from her family. I asked her how she does it, and her response was this: I think about today, she told me. Only today, only this moment. I don't get caught up in what I have to do tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. After all, we only have this. Right here, right now.
