Virginia May Hank—
Oh, whoops. Heard my mums voice there for a minute when I heard the word grounded. Not that I was the type of kid that got grounded. It’s not like I never cleaned my room, or held my cat hostage in my dresser drawer or ‘forgot’ to unload the dishwasher...for a week. Nope. I definitely never did any of that.
But, Mum, if you happen to be reading this—my clothes are definitely all folded and put away and definitely not a heap of clothing that I molded into a pillow to lay on—cause that would just be ridiculous.
You see folks, I’ve been grounded in a whole new way, I haven’t flown in two weeks. You may not think that this is a big deal, but folks let me tell you—this is a big deal.
I sit here, on the beach, sun sending rays of absolute happiness down, the scent of salt tickling my nose, soft sand creeping between my toes and the harmonious sound of kids giggling in unison with each crashing wave getting closer to their little pattering feet.
This my friends is what I like to call “a slice of chocolate cake with a coconut frosting and gummy bears on top”, because it just happens to be my most favorite thing at this particular moment and a little bit of everything you could possibly want.
For two weeks I haven’t lived out of a suitcase. I haven’t cancelled plans. I haven't been bloated due to going up and down for six legs a day. I haven't eaten granola bars or canned soup. I haven't been up at the crack of dawn for a 3am show. I haven't picked up someone else's vomit. And I definitely haven't eaten any biscoff cookies.
Instead I have been in this alternate universe where I have slept eight to ten hours each night. There have been zero alarms set, opposed to my usual fifteen to get up. I have made dinner and breaky and lunch and eaten it in peace. I have done laundry. I have made plans and been able to stick with them because I knew my schedule.
It's been revitalizing, a little beautiful and just oh-so-slightly unsettling.
You see theres this thing that happens when you become a flight attendant and begin flying . You see the world in this new and miraculous way. From forty thousand feet. You see the sun gliding along with the ocean, mountains filled with voluminous trees and luscious greens and snow falling onto icy ground—all in the same day sometimes. You see the world and all it has to offer, but you work in conditions that are forty thousand feet up, tiring, long and away from home each day. And some days you just kinda wonder what it would be like to go back to a 'normal' schedule. You long for it, you complain about it, you are ready for it.
But then, you get it. When you finally get it, my friends, and you join me on this beach surrounded with beauty and harmony; a schedule and plans made for tomorrow. Do you know what I find myself thinking?
That I miss my lack of schedule having. I miss my limited two options of what to wear today, because it's all I packed. I yearn to be handing out biscoffs and saying "how many sugars with that?". I most of all miss the feeling you get each landing and takeoff. You get this lurch of excitement, a sense of wonder hits you every time, still like it's your first.
In these moments I've been given lately, to return to 'normalcy', I find myself laying on the beach looking up at the blue sky, barely a cloud visible, and all I do is watch the planes go by; wondering where they’re going, what kind of passengers they have and the stories that will be told on that flight, and the adventures that are about to be experienced by both the passengers and crew.
And just like when I was a kid, grounded in my bedroom with no tv, no phone and no play dates, just counting down the hours until I was ungrounded--I sit here in a small piece of paradise, waiting to be ungrounded.