Several times today I was told by a dear friend, “Transitions are hard” or “Transitions are not easy” or some other phrase that was much stronger, but basically had the same meaning. These statements of support were timely and powerful. You see, I have been on a wonderful vacation cruise with members of my chosen family. We had seven days and nights of amazing music by a few old favorites and several new favorites. We discovered new-to-us authors and went to book readings, signings, and Q&As. We won prizes at cosplay events, held and fed stingrays at a Bahamian marine-life preserve, got drunk as a skunk on rum punch in St Croix, folded origami cranes and dragons with a man who “folds every day” to relieve stress, danced and partied with a group of drag queens that made my heart stop and my head spin, and, of course, booked ahead for next year’s cruise.
And then, a transition… We woke up at 7:00 am this morning, packed our bags quickly, said goodbye to new and old friends, and hopped off the boat. The vacation was over. It was back to real life and the normal world where much adulting needs to take place. The cruise in the very recent past was starting to feel like a dream. Did we really do all of those things? Did I just sing Sloop John B at the top of my lungs with over 1000 other crazy members of the ‘Red Team?’ Did I just meow a melody in unison, on cue, with the same 1000 crazed fans of these marvelous musicians? Had I really thanked Aimee Mann for her sad and soulful ballads as she stood at the buffet and did my husband really just hand a wet washcloth to the lead guitarist of Jukebox the Ghost to help him clean the sand off his feet? Yes. We had just experienced these things. And now, we were coming back to real life. No more rock’n’rolling boat. Our feet landed firmly on solid ground. “Transitions are hard.”
Another transition followed… As we stepped off the boat, I turned my phone off airplane mode and text messages came flooding in. Information was coming from sources from all over the country. Family members with forgotten questions and seemingly belated well-wishes for a fun time. Friends, unaware that I was off the grid, responded to earlier messages and wondered where I might be. And airlines notifying me of canceled flights. Decisions had to be made. Adult decisions. Overwhelming, adult decisions. “Transitions are not easy.”
More transitions… After finding out that our flight was canceled, we decided to get an Uber to the airport and handle this issue in person. Getting from the cruise terminal to the airport was easy enough and things were going to be just fine. We were going to take our bags to the baggage storage area and find a flight home in a jiffy. We were then going to Uber to the Renn Faire and spending the afternoon with friends from the boat. Vacation would continue for a few more hours. Simple, easy transition from vacation to home. But, no, that wasn’t going to be the case. We walked into the airport and were met with a sea of people. Wall-to-wall people and luggage. Travelers as far as the eye can see all with the same issue. Their flights had been canceled. This was not the simple transition I was expecting. I had naively assumed that one flight, our flight to Denver, had been canceled. Nope. Many flights had been canceled and the energy in the airport was overwhelming. I stepped into a quiet space, pressed against a wall, and checked my texts. My flight had been rescheduled. Yay! I was going home! I didn’t have to worry about booking a new flight. And then I read the complete text. My flight had been rescheduled for 48 hours after the original flight. I needed to find a room for two nights, just like all of the other people in that human sea. “Transitions might not be so easy.”
A few more transitions… Thinking as quickly and calmly as I could, I found an Airbnb 25 miles away in Miami. I knew it was going to be expensive, but there was nothing nearby and the hotels were outrageous. I asked my husband to get another Uber, gave him the address of the house we just paid for, and in 15 minutes we were on our way away from the chaotic scene at the airport and heading toward Miami. Ahhh… finally I could breathe. We were going to spend two nights in a little house in Miami and fly out on Monday. Perfect! See? Transitions can be fun and adventurous. We didn’t get to hang with friends, but we will be seeing them in a few months so it’s all ok. “Transitions can be fun!’
Could there be more transitions? … You betcha! As we were coming close to the end of our Uber ride I started thinking that we were entering a part of town that didn’t look like a part of town that would welcome strangers just showing up and knocking on their door looking for a place to lay their heads for two nights. The driver kept turning to me and saying, “Are you sure this is where you want to go?” As I started to double-check the address we had sent him, my phone died. All of my charging cords were in my suitcase, so the driver pulled over to the side of the street to let me out to get in the trunk for my bag. I popped my cord into my computer, charged up my phone, discovered we had transposed the numbers and, once again, we set off! Yay! We would be at our Airbnb in no time! Transition averted!
Transition averted? Not so fast… The Uber driver was getting quite agitated because in the area we were in there were no house numbers and all the gates around the larger houses had locked gates on their driveways and bars on the windows and doors. Not one looked inviting and we couldn’t tell where we needed to be. It was obvious we were not supposed to be there. I asked the driver to check what address he had on his phone. He was not happy with me. Finally, the driver said something about another passenger waiting for him and that he couldn’t continue to drive around looking for the place. He told us that we needed to get out. And just like that, we got out, got our luggage, and set the wheels down on the crumbled sidewalk. I plugged in proper the address to the Airbnb and started walking to our desired location. Our driver had dropped us off a full mile from our destination. As we walked, I reached to get something out of my purse and discovered that I had left my little purse in the Uber, along with my wallet and passport. We immediately looked up how to resolve this situation. However, the Uber driver is not responding to our calls. Ugh. “Transitions are hard.”
I have canceled all my cards. I will report that my passport is lost. I will interview with TSA to get permission to board a plane without identification on Monday. And with love pouring in from everyone who cares, I will make it home with another great adventure to talk and write about and cherish as my own. Transitions can be hard but they are part of this adventure we call life.
As you face daily transitions, remember that… Anything is possible with lipedema!
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