Category: Travel

Flying Alone

Posted on February 23, 2012 by

Last week I did something new.  It wasn’t as delicious as trying a new flavor of ice cream, or as adventurous as flying down a zip line.  It wasn’t as bold as a new hair color, or as daring as quitting my job.


Last week I flew alone.  Solo.  No friends, no kids, no spouse, no colleagues.  Just me, my overstuffed suitcase and a carry-on bag full of papers to grade, books to read, and stories to write.


Flying alone meant trying something new.  I could get myself out of the house quickly because all I had to worry about was me. It meant that for the first time in a very long time I didn’t forget a thing.


Flying alone meant it didn’t matter where I stood in the boarding line because it was just me.  I wasn’t concerned about entertaining anyone, or making sure I was close to the window or the bathroom.  It meant I could be the very last person aboard because I had a confirmed seat and I didn’t need overhead luggage space.


Flying alone meant I wasn’t worried about sitting next to a chatterbox or a screaming baby-I had my earphones, my iPod, and a book to bury my face in.  I didn’t even have to check who was sitting in front or behind me, just in case they received an accidental kick in the seatback or a quick seat recline in the face.


Flying alone meant I could actually watch the entire movie from beginning to end without interruption.  My tray table only had my drink on it, and I didn’t worry about elbows flying over to spill it.  It meant could read my book, write an article and listen to music for five glorious hours.  I only had to pack the snacks that I liked, and didn’t have to ration them. And if it wasn’t 7:00 a.m. I could have even indulged in a cocktail without guilt.


Flying alone meant that in Dulles airport I didn’t have to take small companions straight to the bathroom, or wait for anyone to catch up with me.  It meant that I actually had one hand free to maneuver through the shuttle, and arrived first to the baggage claim area.  And when my luggage came off the carousel, I was completely free.


Flying alone meant that the next moves were all mine.  I got to choose what I ate, where I went, and how I got there. It meant I could browse the gift shop and the bookstore for as long as I wanted.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have a hand to hold on take-off and landing, or anyone to watch my bags while I went to the newsstand.  It meant that I had to eat lunch alone, and keep my thoughts to myself.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice or opinions.  I had to decide which shuttle to use, and how much to tip the driver.  It meant that I didn’t have anyone to exclaim to as I spied the Pentagon or crossed the Potomacfor the first time.


Flying alone meant that I had a lot of time to myself to think.  I had to wonder what my family was doing, and if they got to school on time.  It meant that I couldn’t see their faces as they raced down the ski course or before they fell asleep.


Flying alone made me realize how much I wished I wasn’t flying alone.  It meant that I missed my family.


Next time, I’ll take a kid or two with me.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Friday Photo: City By Dark

Posted on February 19, 2012 by

Traveling in a new city can be intimidating.  Add to that traveling alone, in a new state, using unfamiliar public transportation, and you have a recipe for a pretty intense experience.  I’m too stubborn, though, to let a little dark get in the way of what I want.

Having never before visited the nation’s capitol, I was determined to do the tourist things.  I’m not shy about asking for help, advice, directions, or anything else that will keep me from doing what I want and seeing all the city has to offer.
Last night was one such experience.  After dinner I headed to the metro, and introduced myself to Calvin, the friendly older gentleman in charge of the L’Enfant Metro Station at night. He couldn’t have been happier to help this California girl navigate herself around the city.
After assuring me there were ‘lots of police’ out at night, he directed me onto the ‘blue line’ towards the capitol.  Upon exiting the underground stop I was astonished to be the only person within sight-and it was  8:30 p.m. on a Friday night!
Heading towards the Capitol Building I was struck by the majestic glow coming through the barren trees.  The strength, beauty and majesty of our country shone brightly, and I began circling the grounds to see it from every angle.  Turning, I caught a glimpse of the Washington Memorial towering high in the sky, lit up like a beacon.  I began walking, sure that there would be more undiscovered beauty waiting for me along the way.
Walking the city alone, in the dark, may not be for everyone.  But for me the calm and solitude of the chilly night was the perfect backdrop for the brillance I encountered.  And I didn’t have to share it with anyone else-it was all for me tonight.
Are you letting something get in your way?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Friday Photo: Back to the Future

Posted on February 10, 2012 by

Some days I wish for that machine from ‘Back To The Future’ – the one where I could climb in and time travel backwards.  In the movie, Marty McFly found himself thirty years back in 1955, smack in the middle of his parent’s romance.

Mainly, I’d travel back to beautiful places I’ve been in my life. I’d love the convenience of pushing a button and finding myself in a new location.  If I felt like great adventures, I’d go to Nicaragua.  For youthful abandon, I’d wake up in a hostel in Amsterdam.  Missing my childhood pen pal? I’d go back to Yorkshire, England.  Nostalgia for family who have passed on would send me back to Sherman Oaks, California.  A yearning for academic stimulation would find me in Berkeley.

Today I want to jump in with Marty and travel back to the place where generations of my family have landed before me.  I want to walk on the soft white sand towards the lone Cyprus.  I want to climb over to Bird Rock and peek into the Whaler’s Cabin at Point Lobos.  I want to climb Hawk Tower and stare into the Pacific, imagining Jeffer’s view from the early 1900s.  I want to watch my babies bury themselves in the sand of the Bird Sanctuary Beach and giggle as they wiggle their toes free.

Then tomorrow I’ll be back in 2012, immersed in life as I know it today. I’ll be driving from mountain to mountain, cheering my children as they catapult down the ski run.  I’ll be packing lunches and loading skis, grading papers and doing laundry, unloading groceries and washing dishes.

But just for today, could you open the door and let me have a moment just for me?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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The Universe is Taking Care of Me

Posted on February 6, 2012 by

Sometimes we all are so caught up in how we want things to be. Who will win an election, who will find the right relationship, what college our kids will be accepted to, what treatment will be found for an illness, what job might open up for us. We face these all-important, and sometimes critical, issues in life. However, I wonder if perhaps we are all just trying a bit too hard to make it happen.

I will admit I am a cerebral person. I stay up in my head all the time. I like it there. I like to think, to ponder, to imagine what if. I have never been one to jump into huge risks, or vocalize my thoughts immediately as they come to mind. I keep them ‘up there’.

Interestingly, I also wear them on my sleeve. Emotional, shy, sensitive – all adjectives used to describe me my entire life. It’s hard to feel intensely and try to keep it inside. I’ve never been good at lying or keeping secrets. Mix that all together, and I often find myself missing opportunities, misunderstood, or thinking of what I ‘should have said’ 30 minutes after the occasion ended.

So in the last few years I have kind of surprised myself. Surprised my family and my colleagues, too. I’ve decided that I needed to let these feelings and thoughts out of my head and heart and put them in motion. Like a slow leak in a balloon, I let the control in my head move towards my center. Using my contemplative nature, instead of thinking it out I let it settle and sink in. I acted on intuition over intellect and to my great surprise, amazing things started to happen.

I found myself in the mountains of Nicaragua, along with my children and complete strangers, mucking in the dirt and rocks to build a school. I found myself teaching and coordinating a new program at my school to help kids and families find their confidence and success. I found myself on a zip line flying over the jungle to challenge my fear of heights. I found myself applying and earning a government grant to study global education, with plane tickets for Washington D.C. and Indonesia. I found myself writing, testing the voice that began to emerge and finding new writing friends to share and learn with. Now, I find myself writing for Yahoo, my thoughts and words about education and parenting shared with an unlimited audience.

None of these experiences would have happened if I remained locked inside my head. There are too many reasons I could create to explain them away. There are too many risks, too many challenges, too many other people who would be better suited. Except that, the universe is taking care of me.

My writing friend Brenda Moguez, who shares her head and heart with the universe on a regular basis, writes in her blog ‘Passionate Pursuits’, “just once, this singular time, I’d like a leg up, the map, the golden key, the spoonful of sugar, the ruby slippers, and one of the wishes Genie gave to Aladdin. It’s ballsy of me to ask, I know, but I have good reason. I looked at karma’s life ledgers and I am showing a substantial overpayment. The same auditors, who tally the votes for the Academy Awards, keep karma’s book, so the numbers are accurate. Trust me.”

I couldn’t agree more. Karma’s life ledgers do keep the tally marks next to our name. Santa Claus does know who has been naughty and who has been nice. Cinderella’s fairy godmother does turn a pumpkin into a carriage so she can meet her handsome prince. And the Blue Fairy does bring Pinocchio back to life after he proves his bravery, honesty and selflessness.

But all of those magical experiences would remain in the ledger book if not for one thing: the voice and actions that put them out into the universe to be answered. As the great philosopher Bill Cosby says, “In order to succeed, your desire for success should be greater than your fear of failure.”

Is this what holds so many of us back?  It’s our lives; we have to want it to happen.

In the end, I believe a combination of desire and action allows the universe to move. Trusting that we will be taken care of, that things will happen the way that they are supposed to, not necessarily how we think they should.

That, and a bit of fairy dust.

 

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Ticket To Ride

Posted on October 25, 2011 by

One moment it’s just a peaceful walk down the Santa Cruz beach with two of my best girlfriends.  The sun is slipping towards the horizon, the gulls are out, and most of the beach-goers have gone home.  Thoughtful conversation bounces back and forth like a Brahms lullaby, and I am happy and content. Just a few more steps and I’ll be back at the house, glass of wine in hand, firmly and finally planted in a lounge chair to watch the sunset.  Sleepily, I move towards our peaceful haven.
Oh no. Not so fast.  Here come girlfriends two and three, grins blazing, heading for the Boardwalk.  Suddenly I’m climbing stairs, leaving my tranquil little happy zone to be slapped in the face by humanity.  Blaring carny rides, flashing lights, and the succulent smells of potato on a stick instantly awaken my senses.  And to my despair, tickets are waved in my face.  Yep, the Giant Dipper and I are about to meet, whether I like it or not.  There’s no turning back now.
We squish into line amongst the teenagers, twenty somethings – no ‘mature’ ladies in sight.  My heart pounds as I consider what is before me.  One of the oldest wooden rollercoasters in the west coast is about to do me in.  And having just confessed my lack of fear to my girlfriends the night before, now is definitely not the time to run crying back to the shore. I’m in it.  Televised images of those who have gone before taunt me.  I can’t do this.  I will die. Barf.  Fall out.  I’m only 5’2″-these things aren’t made for little people like me.  1/2 mile of track at 55 mph?  I’m doomed.
Girlfriends two and three, obviously trying to relive some long dead teenage dreams, insist on the front cars. Really?  Are you kidding me?  Reluctantly I climb in and search for the seatbelt, the foot rest, the shoulder brace-anything to keep me inside this rickety structure for the next minutes of eternity.
Ugh!  We jolt out of the gate with a start that would make any jockey lose their seating.  Into the dark tunnel we spin.  Ok. I can do this.  Not so bad….here we go uppppppp-that means we are going to come down…this is the part where I defy the laws of gravity and fall out of my seat, right?  This bar won’t hold me in…who the hell thinks this is fun anyways? AHHHHHHH!

SMACK!  My head crashes into the bar, back and forth, back and forth.  Up and down, side to side.  I am the ball in the pinball machine taking one hit after the next.  No time to take in the scenery from the top.  Eyes pressed shut, arms braced, my mind drifts back to the Lamaze exercises I learned in birthing class so long ago. Go to your happy place.  This too shall pass.  Only the strong survive.

 Really?  With one final grunt the car lurches to a stop.  Dazed, I climb out of the car and trip to the walkway, realizing that I had been holding my breath for the last two minutes of terror.  My ribs scream with pain as I make my way down and out like a drunken sailor.  I keep going, one foot then another, until I spill back onto the strand.  I’m in one piece.  I made it.
Gratefully I reenter the sand, happy to leave the lights behind me.  Suddenly I notice that the moon has risen, the tide has come in, and I breathe deeply.  As I climb the hillside toward home, the carnival lights dim and flicker out.  The Boardwalk has closed down, but I didn’t miss the ride.
Some say life is like a roller coaster, and today I would have to agree.  We never know what is around the next bend, or over the next hill.  But maybe really the question is are we just along for the ride?  Do you pay your dues, take your ticket and get on thinking you know what to expect?  Or do you hide at the entrance, sure you’re not strong enough, smart enough, or brave enough to take what’s thrown at you?
Now I know.  I’m grabbing the next ticket, racing to the front, and climbing aboard.  Only the strong survive, after all.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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