I’m on a plane leaving Las Vegas, praying for my life. Flying, though I love reaching my destination, is not my favorite hobby. The captain has already warned us while safely on the tarmac that this is going to be a bumpy ride and to hold tight as we try to ascend past the roller-coaster he’s about to take us on.
I’m sitting here, of my own free will. No one has strapped my wrists to the arm rest, the cabin door is still open, escape is possible. I ponder for a second making a run for it, then weigh the consequences of this cowardly potential move. If I
de-plane I can’t see my babies. I have promised them mama’s coming home tonight, I’ve been gone all week. I close my eyes, picture them dog-piling me on the living room floor when they get home this evening. They are the only reason I remain seated. I can’t wait to see them!
It’s been toooooooo long! Every fiber of my being misses them and is exhausted from this trip. I must get home. NOW.
So I’m praying, because now the roller-coaster is in full swing and I’m working hard to keep my roast-beef on rye in place, with a close eye on the paper bag in the seat back in front of me. I pray the same silent chant, as we hit an especially rough air pocket and my discomfort becomes clearly visible to the poor 20-something punk-rocker dude in the seat next to me. He’s praying too, that I grab that bag in time and pull it together already.
Okay, it’s true. I don’t really love to fly. I know this is shocking considering I do a lot of it. Especially lately, but seriously there are other activities I would rather be doing then having my head between my legs, praying to God to just put my feet safely on the ground. So I breathe deep breaths, one after the other. I’ve heard that the oxygen they pump on these planes has a similar effect as the laughing-gas you breathe while having your teeth pulled. Since both events are similar in experience, I gulp quick, deep breaths. I’m the definition of a Hot-Ass-Mess.
It works, I’m lightheaded. This of course could also be the result of dehydration, exhaustion, one sandwich in the last 24 hours, and the rapid pace of my inhales. But hey, I’m going with the dentist-air-thing, convincing my small brain that the control to chillout is in each gulp of air. I finally begin to
calm down when we’ve reached cruising altitude and I’m halfway through my vodka-cran. When I drain it, I causally look around, like I’ve been totally cool all along and these fools are crazy if they thought otherwise. I pull out my laptop and begin working away as if there are more important things in the
world than begging God to spare your life.
Oh Vegas,Vegas. You crazy little make-believe town, what have you done to me? If only I could at least say I’d won at the tables, or learned a few casino tricks maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so depleted at this moment. One of my clients did let me attempt a few hands of black-jack on his dime, but when he saw I was losing it at a rapid pace he quickly put a stop to that nonsense. I can’t blame him.
I’m more tired than I remember being in a long time. It’s likely that I look as though a
double-decker tourist bus has hit me sideways on a 113 degree day. It was a long long week, and I’m relived the air has smoothed out, and my nerves have subsided enough for me to focus on my
This flight is nothing actually. Not compared to the one a few weeks ago leaving LAX. Of course the one day there’s monsoon like weather conditions in LA I’d be trying to get on a flight. It was a quick day trip for a meeting, I rented a car went into my meeting, came back and the city had towed it. That was the first bad sign. By the time I hopped in a cab and got to the airport I’d missed my flight, check #2. The storm was kicking into high gear, rain blowing sideways hurricane style. I boarded the last flight to Portland and after we taxied onto the runway the captain announced that the airport had just closed. Bad sign number three. He assures us that he feels confident that we can take off, that it might be bumpy for thirty minutes or so, but after that the weather was calmer in Portland and we’d be on our way
Of course I’m clutching my arm rests, secretly shooting my hidden mini of Absolute trying to calm my nerves. We lift off and roughly five minutes into our flight the plane is hit by lightning! Definitely not a good sign. There is a huge BOOM on one side of the cabin and a flash of light that lit up the entire inside of the plane. Every passenger on board is praying aloud for God to get this plane safely on the ground. After what seemed like an eternity the captain comes on the speaker and admits we have been hit, and that one of our engines doesn’t seem to be functioning. This is the place where you have a “come to Jesus moment”. Where you say Okay God, I’m on this death trap and there is nothing I can do, it’s all out of
my control and in your hands…
Dear God have your angles carry this
plane and set it down gently at our destination… Dear God have your angles
carry this plane and set it down gently at our destination…. Dear
Did I mention I’m not a religious person?
After about an hour the flight attendants get up to begin offering beverages and peanuts. I search their faces for signs they already know we’re gonna die. That the captain has given them the heads-up, but instructed them to keep a poker face and give me my vodka anyway. I’m gonna get hammered and keep praying. I have another 50 minutes before I know if this plane is capable of landing and what else am I supposed to do? Wait sober? I think not.
When we land in Portland I give the captain a hug and kiss the carpet on the ramp to the terminal. No one thinks I’m crazy.
After the Vegas trip I get back to my office on Monday morning. I sit at my computer with a cup of coffee, still hung-over from my ass-kicking at our work convention. It was a non-stop week of breakfast meetings, coffee meetings, lunches, happy hours, dinners, after dinner drinks and clients at strip clubs. Mixed with software demos and lectures. I’m dehydrated and my eyes are black and puffy from lack of sleep.
I sit staring into space at my vision board. Suddenly, I realize the picture above the one of Time Square is of the Paris Hotel on the Las Vegas strip. Damn. I knew I’d had a picture of Vegas but didn’t realize it was of that hotel. My work books all my travel including hotel arrangements without consulting me. I just got back from 5 days in Vegas all expenses paid, staying at the Paris Hotel. This Law of Attraction vision board is starting to freak me out!
Sarah Centrella is the author of the book Hustle Believe Receive which teaches you how to apply the #HBRMethod to change your life and live your dream.
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