I travel a lot. I find that I am away from October to May most years. I speak to groups of therapists, coaches, counselors, and couples about how to how to heal their relationships and find passion.
That’s all wonderful. But it’s squishy.
My job is to create space for people. I bring people a safe experience, a world in which they can feel seen, heard, believed.
And I begin to create that space long before I arrive at my destination. I think about what I need to do for the workshop or seminar. I plan the journey. I plan the speech. I send my energy forward into the place where I have not yet arrived.
And then I have to actually get there. I travel to the airport. And I try to meditate on the plane.
Because I have to.
There is no head room, there is no leg room, no arm room. There is literally no room on the airplane for my own personal space unless I go into my own head and create it.
I remember when people used to talk on planes, get to know one another, chat. We do not do that anymore. There is barely room to turn our heads in our seats. We have to look straight ahead, close our eyes, go within, in order to find space, and so we become strangers in an intimate space that is normally reserved for children with parents, or for lovers.
I try not to eat too much, I barely sleep, I think a lot about what I am doing.
And then I arrive, I am ejected from the cramped inner space of the airplane. And I move quickly to my destination. The transition space from the plane to the workshop is important. It clears the space in my head, to make room for the next thing.
And then l present; I talk, share, work with people, I connect. I open my heart to individuals and couples in my audience and I am fascinated by their hearts as they open so generously in return.
When it is over I go to dinner. I am social, I am focused on fun, celebrating; finding joy.
And when I pack up to leave I close the hotel door and I begin to integrate the experience. I write down my notes, I fill the space in my notebook. I make room for more ideas, for next time.
I am flooded with gratitude and appreciation for everyone who has been in those rooms with me. I write emails and texts and I leave a trail of love behind me.
I try to make room in my soul for all of this experience.
And then I get back on the plane.
And there is no headroom. They have shrunk the headroom. There is no leg room. There is no room for my arms.
I breathe. I am squished. It is hard to squeeze my self, my body and all that has happened to me into a tiny chair that does not recline.
I close my eyes. And when I am home I swear I will never travel again….
Until next time.
Feel Squished? Airlines Are Shrinking Headroom, Too
The Wall Street Journal
The distance between your eyes and the seat in front of you on a plane is the latest spot to shrink just like legroom and seat size. Read the full story
Shared from Apple News
Originally published at medium.com