I really loved my former apartment. It was just one stop from downtown, with the most amazing view of the skyline from across the small stretch of water. There was the new Jeffries Point Park and also Dough, La Sultana, and La Hacienda all within walking distance. But I kind of love my new apartment, too. It's across the street from a small beach that overlooks part of the airport, and I've spent a few afternoons sitting on the sand watching planes taxi down the runway and lift into the air.
Which of course makes me think about life.
I'm a little scared. I'm scared of my schedule, which is packed to burst with school and work and extracurriculars. I'm scared of not delivering quality product to teachers and students. I'm scared of watering unhealthy habits and of growing further away from my God instead of becoming grounded in Him. Last fall was difficult. Is this fall going to be even hard? Each new thing is a takeoff. Each success is a landing.
Life is a series of these, takeoffs and landings. Most lives are a grueling marriage to a proverbial suitcase, moving from one flight to another to another, endlessly. That makes me feel tired. I watch the flight attendants who get on the train at the airport stop, with the little rolly suitcases, headed home after a few days on. (The whole top floor of our building is flight attendants.) I think about what a hard job they have.
My co-teacher told me today one of our students left his country because his parents were shot. I have a student whose parents sent him to the USA to study English to protect him from gang recruitment. I have a handful of students from Libya who are in the US biding their time for stability to come to their country so they can return. My students remind me that even the rich and the privileged experience heartache and tragedy. Because life has turbulence.
I watch the takeoffs and landings and think of all the people sitting in chairs encased by a hunk of metal, and suddenly they are moving through the sky. It's amazing. Life is a gift.