Landing

Hi Everyone,

Last Friday, I flew from Roanoke to Oakland. As usual, I had a seat by the window so that I could look at the scenery as we flew. This time, though, being able to see out was quite unnerving.

As we approached Oakland International Airport, we flew over the ocean. I love the ocean, and I was grateful for the view. But as we got lower and lower, and we were still over the water with no runway or even land in sight, I began to get nervous, despite all the rationality I could muster up. It felt like we were only fifty or so feet above the waves skimming under us.

I assessed the situation: No one else seemed alarmed. This could mean one of two things: either everything was fine or I was surrounded by a bunch of idiotic, unobservant passengers. I tried to remind myself that tens of thousands of planes had undoubtedly landed at OIA without incident, and chances were high that practically water-skiing into the airport was normal procedure here. I had to believe that if there were a problem, the pilot would have deigned to inform us.

I looked again: still no land, and we were even lower. I thought I could see the anxious faces of fish below.

Well, on the plus side, I reasoned, at least the last 26 years of half-listening to safety demonstrations haven’t been for naught. Knowing that my seat cushion would serve as a flotation device in the event of a water landing, I dutifully located my nearest exit.

Just then, of course, the runway appeared below us, and we landed a few seconds later. I felt a bit silly. Obviously nothing had been wrong, and the pilot knew exactly what he was doing. But I suppose there’s just something about being hurtled rapidly through the air over a large body of water that makes the body worry, regardless of what the mind knows.

I had flown to California to be in my friend Katy’s wedding. She and I have been friends ever since we met in preschool. We lived a few blocks away from each other growing up and we went to the same church. We have been with each other through the big events of life, and it was a tremendous honor to be part of her wedding.

Any beginning (moving to a new city, beginning a new painting, starting a new job) can be nerve-wracking, a marriage even more so. In the same way that we choose to trust our lives to the pilots and a host of other people when we get on an airplane, a marriage is, in part, a willing surrender of control. It would have been concerning to me if Katy hadn’t been at all nervous as she approached such a dramatic change in her life.

Though Katy was focused on saying her vows and listening to the homily during the ceremony, I had the luxury of seeing out into the congregation. No one was alarmed. On the contrary, by gathering there, Katy and TJ’s closest family and friends were effectively saying, “Everything’s fine! Everything is as it should be.”

There was also the historical precedent: millions of couples before Katy and TJ have gotten married and made it work. Most importantly, though, Katy and TJ’s Pilot seemed to think they were on course, and that was affirmation enough for them. Individually and together, they have had years to prepare for their marriage, through friendships, conversations and the miscellaneous experiences we gather as we go along.

As we hurtle through life, we sometimes wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into and it feels like we’ve surrendered control. And maybe we have. But these are often the moments when we glance out the window and discover that we’re also flying through some pretty spectacular scenery.

Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse