The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When you’re on a transpacific flight, you spend a lot of time counting blessings, finding ways to not hate the fact that you’re trapped. With a pregnancy-influenced bladder and a squished middle economy seat. And a young child sitting directly behind, who apparently finds great joy in hitting the seat back energetically and repeatedly.
When I was flying back to Guam last week, I spent some time counting those blessings. These are some I came up with:
1. the plane wasn’t crashing
2. my husband was beside me
3. there were only 12… 9… 6… 4 hours left
4. the food hadn’t been as bad as it could
5. I had every excuse in the world to chillax, set aside responsibilities, and pass the time
One of my favorite things about flying is that when you’re on a plane, all responsibilities kind of come to a stop. I guess there are exceptions to this, but really, during travel there’s generally a suspension of all the day-to-day stuff.
The same thing happens during storms. I remember a few rare snow days during Greenville, SC winters. I relished the opportunity to sit home and not have to do anything (barring the ubiquitous college homework). Knowing you can’t go anywhere can be beautiful.
You know, wearing pyjamas all day and reading whatever and eating homemade soup (if you’ve had the motivation to even make it) and watching Netflix and generally acting like the lazy bum that you know resides somewhere deep down in your heart.
So yesterday, when tropical storm Halong was making its way between Guam and Rota on its angry pilgrimage toward the Orient, that’s mostly what I was doing. While the winds whistled around the windows and rained palm branches and various other debris (including a random snorkel) on my little home, I was embracing my inner lazy bum, propping my feet up, NOT doing the mountain of homework that’s due in two days or the writing assignments that are piling up in my queue.
I think we should schedule storms more often.