The trip to India has truly been a blessing - so many blessings. The first that came to mind was practicing letting go and realizing how helpless and out of control I am.
I didn't think much about it until I landed in Newark from Charlotte - the first leg of my journey. I had to wait for my carry-on to be delivered from the cargo. Yes, that's right. Then I ran to a place where I was told to get onto a bus that would take me to the gate from which I needed to depart. On the bus, while waiting for the driver to decide it was time to leave, a passenger showed me his watch. I had 16 minutes until my next flight was to leave and I was sitting in a bus that was not moving.
Breathe. Remember that you never are really in control. Either that or you are always in control. Either way. . . . . relax.
Strangers wished me good luck as I ran through the airport waving to the people at the gate who called me by name. Ahhhhhh. Made it.
The idea of being helpless came to me rather forcefully while in a large steel vehicle flying 45,000 feet or so above some ocean. Of course, I really don't know for sure where we were as I couldn't see out any windows and even if I could have, I wouldn't have been able to figure out where we were. But I had punched in numbers on a plastic keyboard some days earlier, then picked up some slips of paper at an airport. A stranger patted me down after some scanning machine did something to me. Then I got on the huge vehicle and took off. Strangers served me things that I did not shop for nor prepare. I was completely at the mercy of technology and others who knew how to use it. I felt fine.
Landing in Delhi did nothing to help me forget how helpless I was. People at immigration weren't overly friendly. I don't think they liked their jobs and this American smile got me no where. But I got through all that. While at the luggage carousel, I pulled out my phone to find that the sucker had nearly NO juice. Not sure how that happened. I went to an INFO desk and asked if there was a "usual" spot to meet people. The unhappy lady pointed to an exit and I went for it.
Many, many Indian people stood holding up signs with people's names, but not my name. I waited. I thought. I pondered. I went past that barrier and noticed that outside there were many, many more Indians holding signs with names. So I dragged my luggage out into the heat that was startling. But I didn't see my name, nor did I see my friend. So I turned to go back into the airport and the guard, who carried a big, long gun told me no. Can't go back in once you are out. I sighed. He briefly smiled and motioned for me to go in to the air conditioning. Bless him!
I sat. I waited. I pondered. Then the guard was stepping into the building yelling, "Lady!" I looked up and he motioned for me to come. Honey, when a uniformed man with a gun motions to me in an airport, I'm obeying.
Sanjul had seen me through the glass doors and convinced the guard to call me. I met Sanjul's young cousin and the driver, who spoke no English and drove through mad traffic as only a mad man could. My knuckles were white.
Breathe. Remember that you are never in control. . . . .
Before getting off airport property, we were stopped by police, who found some reason to ticket. I never was sure what. It would mean a trip back to go to court for Sanjul or. . . . . . a bribe. Yep. Police opening asking for - and receiving bribes.
The car was full of fast paced, multi-toned Hindi conversation, of which I understood ZERO. They could have been discussing how they were going to divide up the meat once I was butchered. I trusted that they weren't and I was actually a bit too tired to care.
But guess what? We made it to the hotel. I got a room with a comfy bed and I slept like a sleeper on Sleep Day in Sleepville. I did not dream. I just let go. And in the morning I had the first of wonderful Indian coffee.
Totally out of control and grateful.
I didn't think much about it until I landed in Newark from Charlotte - the first leg of my journey. I had to wait for my carry-on to be delivered from the cargo. Yes, that's right. Then I ran to a place where I was told to get onto a bus that would take me to the gate from which I needed to depart. On the bus, while waiting for the driver to decide it was time to leave, a passenger showed me his watch. I had 16 minutes until my next flight was to leave and I was sitting in a bus that was not moving.
Breathe. Remember that you never are really in control. Either that or you are always in control. Either way. . . . . relax.
Strangers wished me good luck as I ran through the airport waving to the people at the gate who called me by name. Ahhhhhh. Made it.
The idea of being helpless came to me rather forcefully while in a large steel vehicle flying 45,000 feet or so above some ocean. Of course, I really don't know for sure where we were as I couldn't see out any windows and even if I could have, I wouldn't have been able to figure out where we were. But I had punched in numbers on a plastic keyboard some days earlier, then picked up some slips of paper at an airport. A stranger patted me down after some scanning machine did something to me. Then I got on the huge vehicle and took off. Strangers served me things that I did not shop for nor prepare. I was completely at the mercy of technology and others who knew how to use it. I felt fine.
Landing in Delhi did nothing to help me forget how helpless I was. People at immigration weren't overly friendly. I don't think they liked their jobs and this American smile got me no where. But I got through all that. While at the luggage carousel, I pulled out my phone to find that the sucker had nearly NO juice. Not sure how that happened. I went to an INFO desk and asked if there was a "usual" spot to meet people. The unhappy lady pointed to an exit and I went for it.
Many, many Indian people stood holding up signs with people's names, but not my name. I waited. I thought. I pondered. I went past that barrier and noticed that outside there were many, many more Indians holding signs with names. So I dragged my luggage out into the heat that was startling. But I didn't see my name, nor did I see my friend. So I turned to go back into the airport and the guard, who carried a big, long gun told me no. Can't go back in once you are out. I sighed. He briefly smiled and motioned for me to go in to the air conditioning. Bless him!
I sat. I waited. I pondered. Then the guard was stepping into the building yelling, "Lady!" I looked up and he motioned for me to come. Honey, when a uniformed man with a gun motions to me in an airport, I'm obeying.
Sanjul had seen me through the glass doors and convinced the guard to call me. I met Sanjul's young cousin and the driver, who spoke no English and drove through mad traffic as only a mad man could. My knuckles were white.
Breathe. Remember that you are never in control. . . . .
Before getting off airport property, we were stopped by police, who found some reason to ticket. I never was sure what. It would mean a trip back to go to court for Sanjul or. . . . . . a bribe. Yep. Police opening asking for - and receiving bribes.
The car was full of fast paced, multi-toned Hindi conversation, of which I understood ZERO. They could have been discussing how they were going to divide up the meat once I was butchered. I trusted that they weren't and I was actually a bit too tired to care.
But guess what? We made it to the hotel. I got a room with a comfy bed and I slept like a sleeper on Sleep Day in Sleepville. I did not dream. I just let go. And in the morning I had the first of wonderful Indian coffee.
Totally out of control and grateful.
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