Friday, December 31, 2010


Looking back on 2010, well, I've done that in a previous post, so I won't go over all the details again. Suffice it to say, it had more ups and downs than the Legend rollercoaster at Arnold's Park -- and it had the same amount of that exquisite property called "air time". You know what I mean: when you're lifted off your seat and hanging in the air for just a wisp of a second. Some folks like it; other's like yours truly just don't trust it, have no care for it. Or at least that's how I used to size it up.

Today, December 31, the cover closes on the tome. The bows are tied, buttons buttoned, and all is put safely into the box of memories and lessons learned. But the concept of airtime stays with me and will continue to do so, because it's one of the most powerful lessons I learned while Roadtripping this year. Wouldn't have thought it before my visit to that vintage Iowa park, but things change, wisdom grows. And old constricts sometimes need to be plowed away.

During airtime, you float. There isn't much else to do. It's a tickle-tummy sensation: a little scary, a little unnerving, but all in all rather a safe place. During airtime, you can't necessarily plan for the next hill, nor can you curse the last. You are bound by the laws of physics to simply "be".

2010 held many moments I fought with, railed against. Cursed and spat at. But other moments were cherished so tightly that I feared they'd be suffocated by my need to preserve and adulate them. So highly revered, beatified even. But airtime can't be fought, or preserved. It asks nothing, gives nothing back that can be saved and stored. What I've come to learn through all this is that those moments of airtime are where holiness lies. Where God basically holds you and lets you take a breath and just be. Where you both gasp in, ever so quickly, together.

May 2011 hold you in its gentle grasp, lightly. Then bounce you up when you least expect it and let you hover there, taking in all there is without judgement, bias or fear.

1 comment:

  1. Magnificent. Perhaps the best year end statement I've yet to read.