About this time last year I was zooming down I-75, rocking out to an obscure live Springsteen recording, windows down, hopes high, Fritos slowly digesting as I made my way to spring training in Florida.  There is nothing quite like the anticipation of baseball season.  Except that moment when it arrives. You get a second chance every single year and they all feel the same. Fabulous.

This all makes for an enjoyable 12-hour drive. It’s the drive back that kills the joy. The only thing the drive back offers is an experience in the rear view mirror, temps dropping every 20 exit signs or so and many great opportunities to eat rotating corn dogs at the Shell station.

So, this year, I flew.  Or the plane did, I just sat there.

I have tired of the flying experience but at least when flying I don’t have to concentrate while moving at high speeds. Just give me an aisle seat, some pretzels and a junky magazine and I’ll be somewhere in near the ‘content’ range.

If I’m being greedy, I prefer sitting next to an empty seat.  That not being possible, I’ll settle for small people.  Not children, but small and not particularly chatty adult humans.  Do I need to explain that even though I like children just fine I REALLY don’t want to share that space with them? I didn’t think so.

Clear skies, no wind, on time.  Moving easily through time and space. Perfect.  Oh, but wait, as  bonus I realized I was sitting next to a very small adult.  Enough leg room for each of my legs. No cramps. No frowns.

I would say this pushed me into the high end of ‘content’ range. The self-hyped anticipation of the upcoming baseball adventure had not been in vain. I was about to see MORE, MORE, MORE BASEBALL. IN THE SUN. OUTSIDE. WITHOUT SNOW.

The only thing that really grated on my particular set of nerves was the squeaking of the mic caused by a rather poor understanding of sound and audio equipment by our otherwise top notch flight staff.  (And yes, I know the mic itself doesn’t squeak. I put it that way in case any flight attendants are reading this, less they be baffled.)

They broke in just about cruising altitude to tell us that on our flight was a certain little eight year old girl named Courtney.  Courtney was about to pop out of her seat because her whole family was going to the worlds of both Disney and Sea, courtesy of the Make-A-Wish-Foundation. I don’t know what Courtney’s back story was, but I sensed something very tragic in it.  Dressed in painfully adorable Minnie Mouse gear, she even took the mic herself to tell everybody her plans.  Her mom was wet eyed.  And here I thought I was the most excited kid on the plane.

I believe that’s right about when the guilt started to set in.  GO AWAY GUILT, DO NOT RUIN MY PERFECT VACATION.

Yet it returned.

Along with silent thoughts like: Maybe I should have taken the money for this trip and given it to the Make-A-Wish-Foundation.

Countered by thoughts like: Oh come on dude, you can still give money to the Make-A-Wish-Foundation, or help somebody out along the way, or something. There’s space enough in the joy room for both you, Courtney and her crying mom. 

And thoughts like: Don’t you feel funny about worrying about the size of the person in the seat next to you given what true suffering is going on in the world? And the fact YOU, tall man who eats Fritos, are cramping the person next to you?

Countered by:  Yeah, I feel a little sheepish on that one.

I thought about all of this a lot and was not finished thinking about it when the plane touched down in Orlando. It hung in my head all the way through baggage claim.

I’m still not sure that I reached a conclusion- but I do know when life offers you a good seat, appreciate it, and just sit.