When everything goes right

Previous to my last flight home (a 757 from SNA to ORD), I don’t recall ever landing forty minutes early. Forty minutes? Now that is some tailwind, or light plane (maybe 2/3 capacity and no gaggle of elephants in the cargo hold?), or no air traffic, or, perhaps I fell down Alice’s hole straight into Wonderland. Of course we had to park for ten minutes and wait for a gate, but even so, we still deplaned thirty minutes early.

On that outbound trip to SNA, we left on time and arrived on time. Mercy me. And my seatmates were . . . mostly absent! Outbound: I sat in an aisle seat. Nobody sat in the middle or the window. Ahhhh. Flipside: me in the aisle and nobody in the middle. Plenty of room.

Both directions: minimal turbulence. Clean toilets. No commotion or LOUD jabberers aboard, and the captains didn’t chat us to death either.

Security lines weren’t very long; I didn’t leave anything at the checkpoints (miracle); my rides to and from the airports showed up and drove nicely. My checked bag (no option this time) arrived both directions. My hotel room was clean, quiet and “away from the elevator and ice machine,” just like I’d requested.

Even the business portion of my trip ran like clockwork. I was surrounded by obliging people who took excellent care of me and appreciated my contributions to their event. I even sold some books.

BIG perk: Since the gig was in California, I didn’t have to wear pantyhose.

Although everyone apologized for their “terrible weather,” I assured them that their rainy 60 degrees was bathwater compared to the blustery three degrees of freezing everything I left behind in Chicago.

I slept pretty well, ate great food and even enjoyed a social evening out too.

Then the entire trip ended with that WAY early arrival home, and my gallant husband ushered me straight to a delicious Mexican dinner out.

Of course I’ve still managed to find something to complain about: smooth sailing doesn’t make for funny material, and I’m supposed to be writing a Traveling LAUGH. Instead, out flows a Zen-like travelogue filled with the “We’re All Wonderful” stuff that too many boring Christmas letters are made of, not a punch line in sight. Too bad I didn’t imbed a picture of the handsome pilot whose mother perhaps wrote her holiday letter about her handsome pilot son, and/or an MP3 of soothing harp music playing as this page opened, ey?

But seriously, the only REAL thing I’m going to complain about is me having the bad taste to find something to complain about, especially after one of those rare trips when everything went right. Shame on me. Seriously. I herewith withdraw my last two paragraphs.

So, even though this isn’t funny, I shall officially end this missive by encouraging each of us to cultivate a heart of gratitude. May we wandering wanderers work at noticing when even the teensiest things go right, and then take a moment to tuck them into our memory portfolios. That way, they'll be available to us on those days when the wheels fall off our best-greased plans. We can then peruse through them to remind ourselves that not all of life on the road is miserable. We can hold fast a good and true perspective that decency still exists, nice things do happen, kind people often stand beside us, and we’ve lived to tell about it.

Amen.