Eyes Wide Open....

I accidentally preached myself a sermon yesterday. 

I have a 16 year old cat named “Boy.”  Well, actually, his original name was “Charlie,” which became “Charlie My Boy,” which became “My Boy,” which became “Boy.”  And before I adopted him at the tender age of three months old he was called “Ernie.”  Boy is very fussy.   He likes his world to be the same, with no changes to his carefully arranged plans.  He doesn’t like surprises, he guards his peace and quiet, and he resists anything that can potentially upturn his comfort.  I understand Boy because he and I are pretty similar.  I resist change.  I need a peaceful environment.  Boy and I are cut from the same cloth.

Enter Noel…a rambunctious, spunky, springy little Corgi cross.  She is truly a sweet, agreeable little dog.  Her curiosity, especially with regard to our cats, is unacceptable to Boy.  Tippy McWetwoods, our rough-and-tumble formerly stray cat, has gotten quite accustomed to Noel’s curious nose.  If he jumps down onto the floor, Noel will follow after him.  Tippy just accepts this, doesn’t get worked up, and even taunts her a little bit before going for higher ground.  Sparrow, our feisty black-and-white mama kitty, is very chatty with Noel.  Sparrow will sit on the back of the couch giving Noel the what-for, and it is not unusual for Noel to take a few swats on the nose when she gets too close for Sparrow’s comfort. 

Then there’s Boy.  He has holed up in our bedroom ever since Noel’s adoption in December.   We put up a baby gate to keep Noel from invading Boy’s turf.  We carry him down into the living room to encourage him to interact with the family and get over his fears, but within a few minutes he scampers back up to his bedroom sanctuary. 

Yesterday, shortly after Boy snuck back upstairs, I said to my husband, “You know what Boy’s problem is?  He refuses to face his fears.  Rather than getting used to Noel and facing her head-on, he avoids her altogether.  If he would just suck it up, he would find that Noel isn’t scary.  She doesn’t want to harm him….” 

And then I realized that I had just preached myself a sermon. 

How many times do I avoid something simply because it’s scary?   (A lot, I’m afraid to say).  How often do I stare my fears in the face and see them for what they really are?  (Less often that I would like, to be truthful).  How easy is it to get stuck in the avoidance game?  (Too easy). 

It’s time to take my own advice on a more regular basis.  This life is filled with twists and turns and unexpected surprises.  Far better to face life with open eyes than with fear and trepidation.  

In the meantime, we will continue to carry Boy down to the living room to hang out with us.  We will also continue to deliver Boy’s food to him up in the bedroom.  He is, after all, a little prince who has had my heart for over 16 years.

Pssst...TSA Workers....Cheer Up!

I have a question that I hope one of you can answer:  What goes on in TSA training sessions?  I kind of want to go undercover and apply to be a Transportation Security Administration agent.  Maybe this will be my summer adventure.  I will wow them with my charm and skill, get hired at the Spokane International Airport, and sneak behind the curtain into the TSA training facility.  What are these poor newbie agents taught, exactly?  I suspect there is a rulebook that trainees must memorize.  Here’s what I think is on their list of rules:

1. Never smile.
2. Never laugh.
3. The nicer the travelers are, the more you need to suspect them.
4. Never smile.
5. Scrutinize each traveler’s I.D. until you make the traveler nervous.
6. Speak in short sentences and don’t converse with the guests.
7. Never smile.

I am sure there are more rules on their list, but I have a feeling that Day #1 of TSA training is a giant hypnosis session that removes all of their humanity and empathy.  By the end of their first week, the poor victims probably only answer questions using monosyllables and scowly faces. 

Chad and I took a quick little mini-vacation to Oregon a few weeks back.  We bought our airline tickets so early that it was actually cheaper to fly than to drive or take the train.  I had forgotten just how much I hate the security screening process, not because I have to shuffle along in my sock feet, pour all of my belongings into bins, or even stand in the scanner or step aside for a random extra screening.  I hate the process because of how cold and robotic it feels.  I am a fairly chatty person.  Though shy, once a conversation opens up, I happily ask questions and engage in conversations with complete strangers, whether in a grocery checkout line or a restaurant out of town.  I like people.  I like hearing their stories and learning about their lives.  And it’s no secret that I especially love grandpas and grandmas.  They usually have the best stories and best advice.  But then I step into that security line, smile at the TSA checking I.D. cards, and remember:  Oh yeah.  They don’t like people.  I forgot.  In fact, they seem downright annoyed when people like me want to engage in friendly Q and A sessions.  They don’t care where I’m going; they don’t care how excited I am.  They want to scrutinize my driver’s license and move me along like a cow in a chute. 

While waiting in the line, sock-footed and excited for our trip to Cannon Beach, I whispered to Chad:  “Here’s what’s wrong with the TSA agents.  There are basically three kinds of travelers – happy people going on exciting excursions, sad people who are leaving loved ones behind, and tired people who have to travel for work and just want to get home.  Why can’t the TSA be nice?  Is it against the rules or something?”  No matter how you slice it, the typical TSA approach to travelers is not suitable for the typical traveler.  To the happy traveler, the TSA is a buzz-kill.  To the sad traveler they are only agitating things and making the goodbye worse.  To the tired traveler they are further draining any spirit left in the weary worker. 

Now, I do understand that I am being unfair.  I am lumping all TSA’s into one very unpleasant bunch.  Surely there are kind and decent TSA agents out there.  Sure.  But most of the ones I have encountered have been the gruff sort.  One of my friends and co-workers just returned from an international trip.  In London she had to stand and watch as the TSA threw away probably $100 of specially vacuum-sealed meats and delicacies.  On one of my husband’s and my trips, the TSA worker rifled through our bags, haphazardly stuffed everything back it, didn’t bother to zip up our bags, and tossed them back at us like we were the reason he hated his job so much. 

On the flip-side, however, was Brenda, a superhero of a woman who helped Chad and I make a flight after having to cut our Hawaiian vacation short when our airline went bankrupt and left us stranded.  She moved Heaven and Earth to get our bags checked, tickets into our hands.  She took us to the front of the line so we could make the flight.  And we did….just barely.  I still think of Brenda and thank God for bringing her into our life.   Then there was the TSA in Portland.  We were heading home from our Cannon Beach weekend.  I was still kind of bitter about our last cold encounter with a Spokane TSA, but when I saw one of the I.D. checkers actually smile, I told Chad, “Let’s get into his line.  He's actually a human.”  He chatted with each traveler, wished them safe travels, and sent them on their way with kindness.  When I handed him my driver’s license I told him, “We picked your line because you’re happy.  That’s pretty rare in this business, isn’t it?”  His reply was accompanied with a smile:  “They teach us to suspect everyone,” he laughed, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.” 

I’ve taken a cue from that friendly TSA agent this week.  It’s been nuts at work.  Fourth quarter is always a sprint, but when I found out that for three weeks I am displaced from my classroom for state testing and have to lug my computer, books, papers, and materials to five different classes sprinkled all across campus, my first instinct was to groan and complain.  But then I remembered what a total downer people like that can be.  I don’t want to be some growly, scowly mutterer.  I want to be that person who smiles in the face of annoyance and finds a way to enjoy life no matter what.  So I said out loud, “I will not complain!”  Some of my colleagues have said with empathy in their voices, “Oh, you’re homeless, huh?” and my reply has been, “Yes, but I get some fresh air as I hike around campus, enjoy all the different classroom environments, and I get to see teachers I usually only see during staff meetings!” 

The positive approach is actually doing wonders for my inner attitude.  I don’t feel upset by this interruption to my routine.  When my students couldn’t find me today and I had to track them down, burning up at least 10 minutes of 3^rd period before we regrouped and found a classroom to use, I just reminded them, “A lot of times in life you just have to smile and roll with it.  It’s okay.”  And I really mean it.  Life is a lot about the little things – and the little things can do a lot to make or break someone’s day.  I really want to be someone who inspires smiles rather than scowls.