Friday morning, January 1, 2021, I awoke bright and early in the misty dawn of beach-y Fort Lauderdale. The sun was just beginning to show her hues of purple and pinks as if painting “The dawn of a new year.” A light breeze, refreshingly free from humidity, blew down the outside walkway of my hotel, which would be cold for Florida standards but just the right amount of crisp for me. I still didn’t need any covering other than a button down shirt — the only heavier piece of clothing I took with me for my three-week adventure in the Sunshine State.
Like hundreds of other times, I ordered an Uber, made my way through the relatively quiet airport process, and ended up on an Alaska Airlines flight bound for home. We took off into the wind amongst a mixture of clouds that dramatically puffed high above the yellow sandy beaches that would remain dormant for several more hours. A turn in the direction of Seattle took us over Big Cypress National Preserve, which I visited at the start of my South Florida adventure. The vastness of marshy waterways that make up the amazing eco-system bursting with life is a marvel from the air. The mysterious morning clouds folding into the flat topography made it seem as though the protected wilderness went on into infinity — both bidding farewell and welcoming me into a mysterious universe.
Two weeks ago I wrote about my journey helping my friend Chris sail his catamaran under the solstice stars. The call to visit Florida came down to three things — the vast varieties of life found in nature, the amazingly favorable climate (in Winter), and the significance in the early history of colonized North America. What I didn’t anticipate was the refreshed appreciation for the fondness held in my heart for air travel, especially across time zones.
The nose of the plane made a clear downward nod and I drew up my window shade in time for familiar views of mountains sprinkled with snow to transition to rolling foothills and finally the beautiful assembly of lakes, islands, and waterways that compile the Salish Sea and Seattle. It was as if I’d jetted through a six-hour portal as the A321 flew over my house to approach the runway and the feeling of home warmed my heart.
The excitement of arriving home to the Pacific Northwest always brings me joy, no matter the trip. But this particular morning felt different. I woke up just as the last time zones in the world were transitioning from 2020 to 2021, and then boarded a vessel that also provided a cosmic gateway from warm, sunny, and flat to cool, rainy, and rolling. Since I haven’t made an airplane trip for quite some time, it feels like a renewed mystical experience that welcomes a fresh reflection on the way travel can provide portals into all kinds of “other.”
I’ve often written that taking a ferry to the opposite side of the Puget Sound feels like movement to another world — from busy towering Downtown Seattle to the quiet seashores of a rural island with nothing but the towering Olympic Mountains. Even chugging along on the overnight train Empire Builder between Seattle and Chicago offers changes that monumentally shift the mind, mood and heart as jagged mountains transition to wide flat plains. And, of course, air travel can represent the most dramatic example of feats — whisking from the cold, wet Pacific Northwest to a hot, arid desert in under two hours.
I think this is why I’ve always been drawn to travel — car, train or plane. The movement to something different fascinates me. Learning commences in often unexpected ways, opening me up to new personal reflections and external connections. Environment, smells, sounds, people, food and topography all can change in ways that challenge me to either embrace and adjust or close up and reject. No matter the circumstance the choice is usually up to me.
When I think of my global “portals” into drastically different worlds, my summer 2019 trip to Belarus pops into my head. Immediately upon arrival the Cyrillic alphabet and stalinist architecture creates an automatic feeling of passing into something very different. That jarring rush is exciting because it is new, and can come with adjustments that, while uncomfortable at first, produce fantastic personal growth opportunities. For me in Belarus an initial experience was the frigid glare of the immigration officer demanding proof of health insurance before allowed entrance (I had insurance but not proof in the form of documentation with me). I learned the importance of reading the fine print before traveling to a country only recently open to foreign tourists and also that humility and asking for kindness transcends the language barrier — she let me in.
But then, when returning home, there can be a letdown to re-enter into the normal, the familiar, the mundane.
Coming back from journeys I’ve often had the feeling that no one else understands what life was like on the other side of the portal — in an entirely different world. Jumping back through the gate can be very difficult when the letdown feels almost depression-like. Flying back from sunny, warm Florida to dark and rainy Seattle is almost the epitome of this physical difference. I’m in constant work to create as gentle of landing as possible back home — a place that I love and also allows me to thrive.
Since I haven’t experienced this phenomenon for almost a year, it is no longer a problem I’m willing to take for granted. The post vacation blues are real, but I don’t want them to impact my re-entry. So coming up with the best medicine to help re-shape the experience is important. In the spirit of a helpful “shot in the arm”, after my flight from Florida pulled into the gate I took the light rail to my local station and walked the mile home through a gentle misting that seemed to perfectly cool my sun brazed skin. This was the start to helping me reconnect to my home — keeping movement that is grounding and familiar.
Which reminds me that this particular airplane journey was not only between two vastly different areas of the United States, but also around the moment of a symbolic transition of the calendar year. A twelve months that many a meme has labeled a “dumpster fire” and other clever pejoratives. Moving from 2020 to 2021 could be the largest quantum leap yet — a gigantic emotional and spiritual shift out of our personal version of suffering and sacrifice to something else. The something else is largely unknown, but optimism seems to be at this side of the portal. We have a vaccine plan that looks promising, newly elected officials taking office and innovation that is starting to catch up with these unusual times.
And like riding through a portal to a place like Belarus, or Florida, our experience on the other side is up to us to embrace and work through. Whether the New Year offers experiences more similar to a stoic immigration officer or the inspiring wonder of a national preserve remains to be seen — but it can be within our control to make the most of the moments to come with resilience and grace. So, there are no New Year’s resolutions for me, except a determination to leap through the portal with an open heart and child-like curiosity, just like when visiting a far away place, and embrace the magic that can be.
Do you feel like 2021 is a journey to something new, or back to a more familiar world, and if so, what medicine will you bring with you to make this launch as graceful as possible? Even when others might not understand your experience “on the other side”, will you choose to open and expand or close and reject?
May your jump into the New Year transport you and yours to good health, peace and joy.
Happy New Year,
Matthew
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