reflections on a new beginning
There was a time when I considered flying quite a novelty.
I traveled, of course, but never strayed all that far from home, and my usual mode of transportation was my Ford Ranger or a 15-seat green minibus.
Then, my wife Emily and I had the golden opportunity to watch Carter Hamill, Collegiate class of 2001, represent Amherst College in several national-level Division III cross country and track championships, mostly in the Midwest, and an entire new world opened before us.
Our first trip came the spring after 9-11.
A bit apprehensive, we boarded our United Airlines flight in Richmond, landed in Pittsburgh, raced to a gate two terminals away, made our connection by a whisker, then flew on to Minneapolis.
The logistics for that maiden voyage seemed overwhelming, especially for someone who likes to keep things as simple as possible.
Call an 800 number and navigate the prompts just to make the reservation.
Get to the airport well ahead of time.
Park in a satellite lot and catch the shuttle.
Move patiently through security.
Wait.
Wait some more.
Contain my rookie’s anxiety as the plane lifts off, encounters turbulence, and eventually lands.
Pick up the rental car.
Get my bearings in a large, unfamiliar metropolitan area.
Heck, on that first trip, we stayed at the Radisson Riverfront Hotel. I was such a novice that I didn’t even know what river we were talking about.
The summer after Carter’s stellar career came to an end, my son Jay and his family moved to Pensacola on the Florida Panhandle, and over the next three years, our other three children left Richmond for points south and west.
Our flights have taken us through Chicago, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Charlotte, and Atlanta, and there was a time when the enormity of the gigantic airports in those cities and their constantly moving mass of humanity made my head spin.
Now, though, we’ve flown so many times that what was once daunting has become almost routine.
I long ago mastered the art of finding the best deal, booking flights, and checking in online, and I’ve learned that if I’m not sure where I’m heading when we arrive in an unfamiliar airport, it’s not un-guy-like to read the signs or even ask directions.
In fact, the layout of Hartsfield-Jackson International in Atlanta, our most frequent layover, has become so familiar that I occasionally recognize ticket takers, TSA folks, and housekeeping personnel, and I’ve become quite adept at identifying landmarks from the air in all our ports of call.
There’re even times when I become so engrossed in what I’m reading or writing that I hardly realize when the plane lifts off the runway.
Yep, air travel isn’t the adventure it once was, and I’m not sure that’s good.
You see, I never want to lose the excitement of flying, just as I never want my passion for teaching and coaching to dissipate, even though I’ve played those gigs for quite a long time.
My sacred responsibility, I learned years ago, is to do all that I can to improve each day, try new approaches to convey the lessons I hold most dear, change with the times while not sacrificing time-honored values, and step outside my comfort zone just as Emily and I did the day we boarded that flight to the Twin Cities.
Indeed, by challenging my limits, constantly reading, observing, and learning, refusing to become complacent or myopic, and remaining positive and energetic, I can expand the boundaries of my understanding and better serve my family, colleagues, and the young men and women entrusted to my care.
