The Capital Jazz SuperCruise is a wrap.
It was fun, insightful, healing, and enjoyable.
I’m home.
I kept my promise to myself to wheel my suitcase to the washing machine as soon as I entered. Now everything is washed, folded, and hung.
I decided I’d rest.
I purposely kept the TV tuned to anything that would make me laugh.
After a day, I decided to abandon Antenna TV and find out what was going on in HD. The bad news made me consider how something as simple as traveling from point A to point B—making it home—really isn’t simple or promised at all.
Gratitude gripped me.
I didn’t ask the Lyft drivers, the bus drivers, the Southwest Airlines’ pilots, co-pilots, or the Royal Caribbean ship’s captain who they were, let alone how they were; I didn’t assess their mental, physical, spiritual, educational, professional, or emotional fitness. I didn’t request the most recent safety, structural, or mechanical reports of either mode of transportation. I just happily hopped inside, placed my well-being in the hands of strangers, and rode at speeds out of my control.
I was oblivious to the science of it all, but (courtesy of my favorite window seats) I spent my riding time marveling at the art in everything from infrastructure, to trees, to clouds, to the ocean. (How do you not know you’ve been to Puerto Rico while you slept?
How do you not know the storm was so bad you’re not in Antigua, but St. Maarten?)
I put my trust in strangers, and their ability to operate machines with precision; to make decisions concerning my safety and theirs. Their expertise and integrity played an integral part in me getting home again. I did say “Thank You”, but I still don’t know who they are.
It occurred to me that leaving home and returning safely is a very, very, very big deal; that potential danger is everywhere, but every time it skips you, is a reason to celebrate.
You make plans, but there really are no guarantees, so it stands to reason that giving thanks knows no limits, and acknowledging the grace you’ve been shown, is always in order.
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