I’m waiting in an airport to fly home after a lovely trip to Seattle. And when I get home I’m not going to do anything in particular. I’ll just unpack and go to bed. And tomorrow morning I can sleep late if I need to, since my first fixed appointment isn’t until 11:30. In short, I don’t need to be in a hurry.
So why is it that a delay is anxiety-producing? Is it the idea that a change of plans will lead to something bad? Or is it more of a problem that we just don’t like not knowing what’s happening or don’t like the lack of control?
What would it look like to live fully in the moment of sitting on the floor of this terminal, with my son with me? Could we relax and tell stories and laugh? Could we get to know each other in new ways? Could we meet cool people? Could we start a little Gate N1 dance party or conga line?
All of that is just as possible as grousing and fretting, complaining or worrying.
Note to self: good default mode.