Jillian’s February 1 Post: Travel Every Time You Step Out Your Door

I flew to Boston last week. The morning I was to fly, my cat, who has been my companion for 15 years, who has licked tears off my face when I’ve been sad, slipped out the front door, like a ghost in the middle of night, when friends visiting from Australia let themselves out, in the darkness, to catch an early morning flight.

For more than an hour, my partner, Jim, searched for him. Arizona had seen torrential rains and cold in the past 24 hours. Our cat was not used to this climate. Our neighborhood teems with coyotes; one of them could have taken him. Or a car.

Jim urges me to continue packing and prepare for the shuttle bus, which will collect me soon. For some reason, I had awakened this morning with the clear thought I should not drive myself to the airport; an unprecedented plan for me, but I listened to the intuition. Tears stream down my face as I pack. I send prayers that our cat is safe; if something has happened to him, please don’t let him be suffering; have suffered. Jim searches the neighborhood again.

Twenty minutes before the shuttle van is due to arrive, Jim sees one white paw dangling from beneath my car. Jim calls our cat, but he does not come, as he usually does. Finally, Jim retrieves our cold, wet, cat, who is fine. He had tried to crawl into my car engine.

We feed him, he begins to bathe and I cry now tears of gratitude. I get my bag to the door just in time, but no shuttle. I call them, but their lines are busy for 15 minutes. They are 20 minutes late and I have no time to spare to catch my flight. Jim agrees to postpone a meeting at the office so he can drive me to the airport.

Standing in line to check in for my flight, I think, imagine if I had driven myself this morning. I could have, unknowingly, killed our cat, one of our two “fur kids,” as we have come to call them. The shuttle company calls me and says, “Ms. Robinson, we have you down for a shuttle ride, but there is no driver assigned.” I start to seethe… What if Jim had not been able to drive me? What if I had been alone in another city?

But I do not want to stay this way; angry, and scared at what could have happened…to my cat, me.

A woman standing at the check-in desk pleads, gently, with the airline agent. She and her husband had a long-planned vacation in Colorado. Yesterday their flight circled for seven hours over Phoenix, then they diverted to land in Tucson, the weather was so bad. “Lots of people were vomiting, the conditions were so rough. I was one of them,” she says. Now they are stranded, with no idea when they can get out, the flights jammed after the storms.

I shift, moving away from my “problems.” I tell her how sorry I am; that must not have been fun at all. She shifts her state, too. She tells me how nice it is of me to be concerned. She wishes me a great day and safe travels.

It feels good to help another shift, if only for an instant.

I stop to buy bottled water. The woman at the checkout counter tells me she finishes work in half an hour. She’s been working since 3:30 a.m. She says how many people worked until 10, 11 p.m. last night with the storms. “There were lots of people in the bar drinking beer,” she says. “If in doubt, drink beer,” I say. She laughs.

It feels good to make someone laugh, if only for a moment.

A woman struggling with a stroller as we board smiles as I reach down to help her collapse the unit to stow. “Thank you,” she says, “It’s not easy traveling alone with a small child.” “I know,” I say, imagining experiencing the challenges of travel also with a child by my side.

It feels good to help someone who needs it, if only in a small way.

I realize, we can shift, travel, every time we step outside our door: even if it’s inner travel. We’re progressing, moving forward, becoming more of the person we want to be. Anytime we take an “outer travel” anywhere – for business, pleasure, vacation, a reunion, a trip to the local coffee shop, our spirit can travel a little bit, too. Soon, we’ll be Traveling farther than we ever imagined.