Airports and airplanes are supposed to speed us up,
moving quickly from Denver to Chicago and back and then on to LA. My experience
is exactly the opposite...airports teach me to slow down. I might still stride
quickly down a concourse towards my gate, but once I get there I need to slow
down and await the bizarre boarding priority dance to unfold. When I manage to
claim space for my bag and fall into a seat, complete with a seat belt that
will need explaining during the required safety soliloquy, I have to wait for the rest of the plane to board. The door is closed and locked and the plane heads to the runway. And then I sit and
wait. And wait. We line up for take off and then spend time sailing through the
sky.
We are moving faster than any car or train...or sailboat. But I have to sit and wait. Even more importantly, I have to face the fact that I have no control. I do not control the wind or the flaps, the speed of the plane or the path we take. Much like life, I have less control than I might wish for over the world around me. However, as Victor Frankl pointed out, I always have control over my response to life.
This reflects an interesting aspect of Jewish theology. The world in a huge paradox in which we, humans, have free will. At the same time (here is the paradox) we believe that G-d knows what we are going to do. We live in the space between freedom and connections. This might be the strength of the Jewish way of thinking...it is a world of "yes, and" where many points of view are considered true.
We learned this in the sailboat. There are buoys that mark the sides of the channel, and there are rules about how to stay safe around other vessels. But that is all. Otherwise the channel is open. There is no way the skipper can control the wind or the waves, but there are hundreds of choices and opportunities between the elements that we do not control.
So airports are places to let go, to let time pass as it will. Being stranded becomes a form of meditation. Speeding up means we need to slow down. Wandering up and down the concourse is exercise and people watching. Waiting for a plane is a lesson in slowing down. Calmly. Quietly. Knowing that I only have control over my choices over what life opens up for me.
We are moving faster than any car or train...or sailboat. But I have to sit and wait. Even more importantly, I have to face the fact that I have no control. I do not control the wind or the flaps, the speed of the plane or the path we take. Much like life, I have less control than I might wish for over the world around me. However, as Victor Frankl pointed out, I always have control over my response to life.
This reflects an interesting aspect of Jewish theology. The world in a huge paradox in which we, humans, have free will. At the same time (here is the paradox) we believe that G-d knows what we are going to do. We live in the space between freedom and connections. This might be the strength of the Jewish way of thinking...it is a world of "yes, and" where many points of view are considered true.
We learned this in the sailboat. There are buoys that mark the sides of the channel, and there are rules about how to stay safe around other vessels. But that is all. Otherwise the channel is open. There is no way the skipper can control the wind or the waves, but there are hundreds of choices and opportunities between the elements that we do not control.
So airports are places to let go, to let time pass as it will. Being stranded becomes a form of meditation. Speeding up means we need to slow down. Wandering up and down the concourse is exercise and people watching. Waiting for a plane is a lesson in slowing down. Calmly. Quietly. Knowing that I only have control over my choices over what life opens up for me.
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