“Does that mean they can’t fly to Italy?” I asked the Swiss Air agent at the Los Angeles airport.
“They can fly because they’re old enough, but we don’t offer the service to help them transit in Zurich,” the agent relayed, scratching the black stubble of his beard. He looked up and said, “Swiss Air allows them to fly unaccompanied if they’re twelve or older. But they have to get through passport control and change gates on their own.”
This conversation took place a year ago as the boys prepared to fly to Italy for to visit their Papa. I scanned the faces of Sam and Oliver, then 12 and 14 years old. They seemed fine.
Me? I wasn’t fine. Ripples of anxious heat pumped through every vein in my body thinking of them getting stuck in The Terminal: Zurich Edition (cut to scene of two young kids sleeping on the floor at a gate and living on Swiss crackers for days like mini-Tom Hanks).
This was a bridge we’d never crossed.
In Will Rogers State Park there’s a bridge high up in the Santa Monica mountains. In my couple of years in California, I’d hiked to this bridge dozens of times and always stopped at the bridge, stretched, and turned around. Maybe it was the steep drop on both sides of the bridge that boomeranged me back down the hill. At some point it became habit.
At the Swiss Air check-in, Sam and Oliver glanced at each other. “It’s okay, Mom,” they agreed nonchalantly. The boys had never flown as solo global airline travelers before, but I knew I’d taught them all I know about travel, relying on themselves, each other, and asking for help. I knew they’d be accompanied in all ways.
I wasn’t sure they’d make their connection or drink anything but Coke on the trip, but I trusted throughout this sixteen-hour journey and beyond there’d be goodness for us all.
After watching them wave goodbye to me at the Los Angeles airport through eyes soaked in tears, I headed to Will Rogers Park for a hike.
I hesitated at the passing but finally walked across the high up bridge. It didn’t even teeter in the wind, I thought, and kept climbing. The navy and silver currents of the Pacific Ocean to the west and snowcapped San Bernardino mountains to the east were even more magnificent up here. Walking back down to the now not-so-formidable bridge, a father and daughter sat at my resting spot. “She wants to turn around here,” said the father to me casually, plausibly looking for my support.
“There’s a beautiful view on the other side,” I nudged, smiling at them as they chugged water in unison. “I used to always turn around here,” I confessed. “I guess I was afraid of how steep it was. But today I went over and up, and I’m glad I did.” The father winked at me in silent thanks. Then the pair stood up and strolled across the bridge.
The kids now always fly to Europe on their own and I now always ceremoniously cross the bridge on my hikes.
I’m sharing this story with you because there may be a metaphoric bridge or two you haven’t crossed. Maybe you haven’t felt ready. Maybe the timing wasn’t right.
And I’m guessing life is presenting you with a bridge or two you think you aren’t ready to cross but the wind is pushing you in that direction. Maybe you’re not “ready” but you are prepared, accompanied, and stronger than you know. Maybe it’s time to check out the view on the other side.
If you need a little or a lotta support crossing a bridge, I’ve got you. We’re beginning The Sandbox for Intuition Development + Creative Expression on Friday, October 6th and I’m extending the early registration window for one more week until Saturday, September 30th. Also, there will be a way to join us for parts of the series if you can’t join the whole shebang. More details to come!
