Those decisions seem easy for some, and sure, you could say those people are just the shallow puddles we trudge through, but I would argue that those people are lucky, because right now as I watch this girl, the past me, looking serenely self-possessed, I know that she is standing on a great precipice. I can tell by looking at her that she is the still water you only ever skip rocks over. The world as she knows it is about to be turned upside down and if she doesn’t learn to swim, her own depth will drown her. I feel a strong desire to whisper “surrender,” but I don’t. Like everyone in this airport, she is headed somewhere, possibly the first stop on that brutal journey of self-discovery. Like the rest of us, she will have to learn the hard way that we are not always in control. Sometimes it takes the love of others to show us who we really are.
Navigating an airport with two small children is no easy task and before I get on that plane, I’ll wonder if I packed enough snacks, if the DVD player is charged enough, or if I’ll have enough energy to rock my thirty-pound toddler in the space between the smelly lavatory and flight attendants’ station. As I chase my kids around, trying to squeeze Benadryl into their tiny mouths, I wonder if the decisions I made in my twenties were right for me. Will my marriage endure the test of time? Am I a good mother, wife, writer, neighbor, dog owner? Then I remember the journey that brought me to those decisions and that memory gives me great solace, because the memory is a reminder of who I am among all the chaos that is life.
Before I head to my gate, I look over at Mia and wonder what she thinks of me, all frazzled and disheveled with food stains on my clothes. I wonder if she knows that sometimes we figure things out and then life changes and we have to figure it all out again. I’m sure she’ll learn that soon enough and I’m sure she’ll have her own story to tell…
Track 1: Fledglings
The airport security agent was losing his patience. “Ma’am, I said you need to remove your shoes and place them into the bins.” She wasn’t intentionally ignoring him; she was preoccupied, well, more like staring into space. If we were graded on how efficiently we removed our belongings to place in those little gray bins, I would have gotten an A plus. The woman in front of me, however, was failing miserably. Her two children were running around, screaming like banshees, while she appeared to be… daydreaming.
I tapped her shoulder lightly but she didn’t respond. Finally, I cleared my throat and said, “Do you need a hand?” I figured I might as well since I wouldn’t be going anywhere until she did.
She mouthed the word “shit,” then said, “Yes! Please! Will you grab his shoes?” She pointed to a little blond, blue-eyed cherub. “Would you mind carrying him up there for me?”
“No problem.”
I walked up to the little boy, who immediately quieted. I gave him a big smile, then yanked his shoes off and threw them into the bin moving swiftly down the conveyer belt. “Ready, kid?” He nodded and I picked him up and carried him toward the metal detector. The warmth of his little arms around my neck radiated through me. I smiled at him, crossed my eyes, and made a silly face. His giggle sounded like music. I pried his clinging legs and arms from around me to set him down.
We ushered the little boys through the metal detector and then proceeded to collect our things on the other side. I followed her over to the benches to help put shoes back on the boys. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Cash,” he said shyly in his small, squishy voice.
“Cool name.” In fact, it was my favorite. “I’m Mia, nice to meet you.”
“I’m Hayden!” shouted his dark-haired brother. They were almost identical in height, but Hayden had dark hair and dark eyes.
“I like your name too,” I said smiling.
His mom stood up and introduced herself. “Hi, Mia, I’m Lauren. Thanks for your help. Motherhood is crazy.” She let out a long breath.
I noticed that we resembled each other: same straight, dark hair, fair skin, and hazel eyes. It was eerie. She could have been my sister… or maybe she was me in ten years? There was something different about her, though—her eyes were sunken and hollow; she looked exhausted. In that moment I wondered if I would ever be a mother or if I even wanted to be. I thought maybe if I found the perfect husband—stable, wealthy, business-minded—it could be a possibility, but definitely not in the near future. I decided if I did have children, I would surely have my shit straighter than this lady.
For being all of twenty-five, I was admittedly a bit of a control freak. I actually used to embrace that facet of my personality. I thought being an independent woman who was in control and made decisions with her head and not her heart was evolved. Making the right choices equaled guaranteed success in my mind. Of course, I didn’t know then that my definition of success would change so drastically.