The Lady at the Airport

"Our entire life consists ultimately in accepting ourselves as we are.” ~ Jean Anouilh

(Please note: The recent blog entries are being posted approximately one week belatedly; in case mention of events do not coincide with calendar date. :) We're double posting to get caught up!)

Yesterday my parents flew back to Europe. While we were at the airport, I glanced at a woman sitting on a wheelchair right beside the row of seats my parents had chosen, and when I saw her dropping her purse on the floor, I rushed to pick up her belongings and handed them back to her, to which she responded with a bright smile and a twinkle in her eyes. She thanked me profusely, and asked where my parents were from.

I explained they live in Italy, and she told me that she had studied arts in Florence before the accident that crippled her. She said that living in Italy showed her the way life should be lived – more easy-going and in the moment – and she recalled turning those observations into practice once she found out she could no longer walk. “I used to live in the fast lane” she said, “and never stopped long enough to realize how much I had taken for granted.”

I could only nod, so she took a sip of her drink and continued. “See this coke?’ she asked, “I never really took the time to notice how it really tastes. Before, a coke was just something pleasant to sip. Now, no matter what I taste or endure, I try to fully live the different nuances of my experiences.”

I asked her how not being able to walk made her feel, and expected a victimized reply. Instead, I was in for a surprise.

She quietly watched a little boy as he struggled to drag his backpack and keep up with his mother, and a soft smile formed on her lips. “See? I would never have noticed that before I became unable to walk. Now, everything I see, feel, touch, taste, or experience, is a joy and an inspiration. Being crippled taught me how to live.”

She mentioned being bitter in the beginning, and going through depression when she first learned of her predicament, but she had learned how to accept the things she could not change. She had decided soon after that she would live for the moment and would cherish every experience, knowing that things hardly ever happen by chance.

After I returned to my seat, I couldn’t help, once I a while, looking at the lady as she watched the other passengers rush by. There was peace in her eyes, and she radiated happiness. Her appreciation for life hadn’t come from the things she no longer could do, but the ones that were available to her now.

Through her tragedy, this woman had discovered patience, humility and serenity – her obstacles had been nothing more than opportunities dressed in a dreary costume.

She had lost her legs, but on that fateful day, her true being had grown wings of love. And never before had she been that free.

The Yellow Rose

I believe that one of the most important encounters of my life – one that has changed the course of my thinking, and my general living approach – took place when I was about thirteen. I had gone with my mother to visit some friends of hers, and I immediately felt drawn to an old man who lived there – I would later find out he was the father of my mother’s friend.

The man was an easy one to spot. With snow white hair and a fluffy beard he somewhat reminded me of Santa Claus. Little did I know then, that in so many ways he really was a Santa Claus, as the gift he gave me that day was indeed the most precious I ever received.

As a teenager, I couldn’t be bothered with spiritual stuff – I lived for boys and clothes, and as all teenagers, I believed that a life free of drama was a waste of time.

Well, this particular day, we were going to see my mother’s friends, and although I did not dare roll my eyes in boredom during the trip, I certainly did so in my head. What a dreadfully boring afternoon this was shaping up to be! We arrived at about 3:00pm, and walked in. My mother’s friend had coffee and pastries ready, and we all sat down with her. Shortly after we arrived I asked if I could go out in the yard. I figured there would be even less to do there, since they lived in the country, but at least I didn’t have to listen to the annoying chat.

I walked outside, and that’s when I noticed the man. From the back he was an ethereal vision, and created a marked contrast against the vibrant green of the foliage around him – his hair blended with the collar of his white shirt, and where that ended, white trousers began. He turned around when he heard me approaching and flashed a smile as white as his hair and shirt. “Well, hello young lady” he said. I nodded, uncertain whether to feel annoyed at the prospect of more adult conversation, or relieved that I wasn’t alone.

“Would you like helping me weed the flowers?” He asked, his intense brown eyes peering through thick dark lashes as he pointed to a small row of rose plants. I shrugged, walked toward him and began to pull some of the weeds growing around the plants. With my city training I had no clue I had to watch out for thorns, and I pricked my finger after the third weed. I instinctively sucked my finger and saw the man smile. Was he making fun of me?? The nerve! Here I was helping him and he found it funny that I got hurt. I got up, ready to leave and go back inside.

“Please, don’t leave” he said, “thorns are one of the downfalls of cultivating roses, but the flowers are a gift of Heaven. He picked one of the roses and handed it to me. It was an explosion of yellow silk, and I don’t think I had ever seen one so pretty.

“See?” said the man, “its thorns hurt for a moment, but its beauty makes you forget the pain. People are like roses – we see the thorns first, but if we work past them, what we find is worth the struggle. Tonight, when you go to bed, ask yourself this question – who are you, really? Are you a rose, or just its thorns?”

“Who am I really?” – This question haunted me for years, and maybe I haven’t quite fully answered it yet, but one thing for sure is that, since that day, I’ve known that if I ever wanted to find my inner rose I would have to work through at least a handful of thorns.