Repeat the Sounding Joy

"Marlow, what do you mean your family hates decorating Christmas trees? That's it, I'm coming over this weekend. Can you get a tree by Saturday?"

...words from myself to my best friend Marlow nearly a decade ago.

Saturday finally came and I arrived at the Larson family home in the country side.  Marlow rushed in with a mug of meticulously prepared hot cocoa. "I think I may be onto something, this hot chocolate is the best I've ever made" he says.  After tasting and agreeing (and a second helping), he and I began decorating his family's perfectly chosen tree. The smell of the tree, a freshly cooked spaghetti dinner, and old boxes filled with Christmas decorations filled the home.  It smelled like Christmas should smell.

As the years went by, new traditions built into this carefully planned one.  I would arrive at his parents new home in the city and his mom and I would converse about the carefully picked tree, how its her sixth time remodeling the living room, and his dad and I would contemplate the best Christmas music to play (which was always Frank Sinatra or Nat King Cole).

Marlow and I realized that this is the time of year that makes us feel more excited and happy than any other and we wait all 364 days for it with hunger and intent. It was simply never soon to begin celebrating.  But this day, we went all out.

We began to pull out the decorations and agree together that the collection of clown ornaments is creepy and discuss what will happen if we cannot find baby Jesus for the Nativity Scene.

After it was completed, we stood in the driveway where the living room window overlooked the neighborhood, with a beaming, beautiful Christmas tree. Smiling proudly, and embracing the cold December air, we shivered and agreed that it was time for another cup of cocoa and a Christmas movie.

Although now just a memory, those days will still remain some of my favorite and most poignant.

Tradition is just that after all. Making something out of what was once nothing, creating a bond of spirits, and mostly, remembering how those seemingly small and simple moments made us feel infinite.

Perfect Strangers

My seat mate on my trans-Atlantic flight from London Heathrow to Miami was asleep for the better part of the trip.  When the elderly, white-haired man in a green and grey tweed suit awoke, he rubbed his eyes, polished his two-inch thick glasses methodically, and turned to me.  "Well hello there, have we reached Hong Kong yet?" Realizing his clever joke, I returned a little giggle and reached my hand to his for an introduction.

I found out that his name was Arthur, and at his spry age of eighty-two, he was returning from a trip in Nice, France visiting some old friends.  Once he found out my interest in languages and traveling, he shared his background with me.  By the age of thirty, he was fluent in five languages: English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. He later became a translator for the US military and many government projects.

Before departing the plane after an exhausting nine and a half hour trip, Arthur said, "It was lovely meeting a person who shares an affinity for languages.  I want you to know that I have been interpreting for over fifty years and I have absolutely loved every messy little moment of it. Every stumble in words and translation always led me closer to my goal and eventually my career. It is such a parallel to life. Remember that whenever you reach the stumbles in your path, think of it as a layover. You are nearly there."

After this, he handed me several of his vanilla and lemon creme cookies and waved goodbye to me at border control.

We all imagine things playing out a certain way only to find that our perfectly laid out plans were nothing but a dream. Going back to Germany turned out to be so much more than I could have ever hoped for.

Destinations are, after all, for the dead. It is not really a place to arrive at.  The journey does not end simply because you find a permanent place to live, have your dream career, or find that person you want to spend your life with. Life continues to evolve, inevitably.

Whenever I have felt "stuck", it was only because everything around me was changing--it was just my mind that remained behind.  Life propels. Catch up, or you miss it. It will not wait for you.

This simple plane trip "home" brought me clarity and peace.  It can sometimes be as simple as a smile or the people whose paths intersect yours.

I stand back and smirk sometimes when I realize the coincidence feels more like some elaborate plan. I see in those moments that more often than not, I am just a step, a breath, a word, a stranger, a new friend, and an opportunity away from meeting that "aha" destiny moment.

Even that is a step down the path of my extremely colorful, often treacherous, thoroughly confusing, yet full of love life. Why would I not enjoy the messy bits of it all too?

Now that I think about it, the layover has always been my favorite part anyway.

Thoroughly enjoying my London Heathrow layover