Many years ago, I was invited to take a ride in the Blockbuster blimp for my birthday.
Yup. That many years ago. When renting video tapes was a thing. Arriving at a small airport in Northeast Philadelphia, I was startled by the size of the huge bullet-shaped “balloon.” Six strong men struggled to hold the blimp steady via long ropes. My friend yelled out, “This is going to be a hell of a ride!”
I saw an inconceivably small oval cockpit hanging beneath this floating behemoth.
I decided the butterflies in my stomach were from excitement as we squeezed into our seats. Since it was my birthday, I had the front seat next to the pilot. Lucky me. In a flash, those strong men were waving as our little engine chugged us forward. It was surreal.
I thought of the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang movie while watching neighborhoods glide beneath us.
My husband’s seatbelt wasn’t secure and our gracious host in the miniature back seat wasn’t much help. “No worries” said the pilot as he reached back to adjust the belt. No worries? The nose of the blimp moved rapidly toward the ground, giving me a full appreciation for the term, “nosedive.”
Those butterflies weren’t only in my stomach anymore.
The pilot turned back and casually righted the blimp. “See, nothing to worry about.” Funny guy. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Immediately that familiar sensation of nausea came over me. It never crossed my mind that a lifetime of motion sickness within all moving vehicles might extend to a blimp ride. I immediately got into management mode as I relaxed my body, set my gaze forward, and began breathing deeply. Placing myself in an aware trance state, I focused the delight of flying.
“Kathy! Take a look. Your husband is turning green.”
Apparently we shared an affinity for blimp sickness. Well, that man was on his own. The pilot suggested they open a window. In a blimp? Good grief. The backseat duo couldn’t get the damned window open, so the pilot reached back and battled with the sticky window.
Another nosedive while moving through rough wind currents.
Happy birthday to me. I quietly scanned for an airsick bag. Nothing. As fresh air blew through our tiny capsule, I made a quick decision. I was gonna totally enjoy this novel experience. I decided my butterflies found it thrilling. After all, how often do you float over neighborhoods, rivers, and highways? I even snapped a photo of Philadelphia before we were turned away from the restricted city air space.
I gratefully realized I was halfway through my birthday adventure without losing my cookies.
My celebration was interrupted when the pilot asked if we were interested in heading to Willow Grove to see if we could fly in the air show. Since I didn’t think I’d be flying fighter jets in the future, might as well try to show up in a blimp. When else would I get a chance to be in an air show?
I was hanging on by a thread when we got the message to “stay put” in case we could fit in the lineup. We’d been in the friendly skies nearing two hours and still had to make it back. By the way, the back seat was doing just fine with their breezy window. Enjoying some history and a tour of the grand estates in a ritzy area of town.
I’d love to tell you that we were the star of the show, but the Blockbuster Airship didn’t make the cut.
All that extra travel for nothing! Or was it? Reflecting on this gift of flight, I’m grateful I hadn’t recalled my motion sickness before we arrived. Or knew what a long, uncomfortable experience I’d have. I’m certainly glad I didn’t know anything about hanging in a mini cocoon under a gas filled balloon. Nor about nosedives and open windows.
All that knowledge would have definitely led me to worry and hesitation.
Which would have been an absolute waste of time and disrupted my birthday excitement. I learned motion sickness exists in the air and on the ground. And so does delight. As above, so below. It all depends what you chose to focus upon. Truth be told, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
In hindsight, the blimp was a walk in the park compared to the time I jumped out of an airplane.
But, that’s another story entirely.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
I walked out of the gym one morning into a cold, dreary New Jersey rain.
After my challenging workout, I gingerly lowered myself into the driver’s seat. Taking stock, I felt cold, damp, and hungry. My butt muscles hurt and I didn’t think my packed lunch was sufficient to fuel my entire work day.
I was driving home with my daughter when we noticed a large snapping turtle crossing the roadway. It was a tiny back street lined with a small pond.
I recently found myself thinking about activism. About the many ways we show up for what matters to us.
As I considered this, three memories arrived. Rapidly, as if they were part of my contemplation.
The first was a conversation I had with a woman in my town. She was giving me an update on her recent gathering with other mothers protesting against gun violence. I was interested as we had explored what mattered to her as she approached retirement. Protecting children in schools and on street corners mattered, so she joined with other moms who cared about the same.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
Eight years ago, I traveled to Costa Rica for a week-long retreat centered around ayahuasca, breathwork, yoga, and deep inner exploration.
Like many people who are drawn to these experiences, I went seeking something. You might call it a Divine encounter. You might call it awakening. You might call it healing.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for. I only knew there seemed to be a place people spoke about. That place beyond ordinary life.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
