Morning Fog

Morning fog.  The period when much of what lies ahead is hazy, sometimes completely indistinguishable.  

Looking at it from your bedroom window it appears mysterious, even alluring.  Standing in it is a bit different, though.  It doesn’t seem so bad at first.  But after awhile you begin to feel trapped, not knowing which way to go or what you’re walking towards.  At times you barely feel as if you’re moving because you cannot see below yours knees.  You feel stuck in one spot, even though your feet are taking you somewhere.

Sometimes my life feels this way.  I get trapped in this type of state that is so strange it doesn’t even have a name.  It just reminds me of the fog. 

That state, where your thoughts become cloudy and fragmented.  Where you think about all the things in your life that are uncertain.  That state, where you cannot comprehend the patchiness of your circumstances and how you got to where you are. That state that you know won’t last forever, but that you never thought you’d be stuck in this long.  

Stress amplifies this state.  Periods of distinct loneliness, made apparent by the miles between family and friends, amplify this state. That feeling of freedom and independence turns to fear when you know you have no one to physically run to for comfort.

You realize you’re trapped for awhile.  

But only for awhile.  Like the fog, the state will dissipate. Your days will eventually clear and become visible. 

The hardest part is waiting out the fog. 

People Watching

Baseball games.  Malls.  City parks.  All great places to watch people.  My favorite, however, has to be the airport. 

When I say “watch people”, I do not mean creepily staring them down.  It implies casually observing the everyday happenings of others.  You’ve done it, too, so don’t try to hide it.

It’s so intriguing because we want to see if other people act the same way we do.  We want to see if they handle stress in similar ways, how they dress, and if their personalities match up with the stereotypical norm. 

In airports it’s pretty easy to pick out the first time flyers.  They fidget.  Frantically tapping their foot, they can’t keep still for the life of them.  Then there are the frequent flyers, a simple briefcase and look of annoyance on their face.  The distressed parents, all wide-eyed and yelling “NO (insert child’s name here)” as their kid climbs all over the chairs and accidentally nudges an aggravated neighbor.  The beauty queen, reapplying bright pink blush and lipstick 6 times while waiting at their gate.  And, my favorite, the comfort seekers.  Dressed in sweatpants, Uggs, and a see-through tee, they can’t pull themselves away from their cell phones. 

What a mix. 

I can’t help but think about all of the people in the world when I’m awaiting a flight at the airport.  How many people pass through here every day?  Thousands.  Each with a history and a background.  Each with their own story to tell. 

I had a conversation with a wonderful woman on a short hour and a half flight this past weekend.  The beauty of these chats is that you will, more than likely, never see that person again.  So what’s the harm in sharing personal struggles and stories that you wouldn’t normally tell?  There’s really nothing to lose, and only much to gain. 

It’s pretty incredible to think how much we might learn by simply listening to another’s life story.  It happened to me this weekend, and it only took an hour and a half. 

Spark up a conversation with the stranger sitting next to you.  You’ll be surprised at what you’ll get out of it.