It was a high moment. I had just finished an exhilarating
meeting with the heads of the division and it seemed my contribution was
meaningful. They were thrilled that I joined the team and I was flattered that they had asked. Normally, I would have been spinning with ideas,
anxious to fulfill my action items and knock their socks off. Instead, I was
pacing the terminal and pouting about the snow falling rapidly outside the
large windows. I knew the odds were mounting against me and that I might not make
it home to see my kiddos.
I approached the gate attendant and inquired about my
delayed flight. Her voice was gruff and as she punched around on the keyboard
I, for the first time, noticed her. She looked serious, no nonsense. I was
surprised that I hadn't noticed this sooner, I felt lucky that she didn't bark
at me for speaking to her in the first place.
She assured me that the snow was no big deal and that
worst case scenario there were more flights to Tulsa were I to miss my
connection. I walked away and continued my nervous pace...might as well burn
some calories if I'm too distracted to work.
I thought of the opportunity I had been given. I
considered how torn I felt about it. I was on an upward trajectory. I had
something to offer and I was fortunate enough to work for folks who wanted to
capitalize on those talents. I felt like the sky was the limit. I also felt a
pang in my gut every time a baby or a young child strolled by.
Ten years ago I would have grabbed hungrily at all the
possibilities before me. I would have readily traveled the globe and lost track
of cities and time zones. But, there I was, standing in a terminal full of
people, feeling lonely and homesick. When I was young I didn't have room for
homesick. There were too many great things ahead that I didn't want to miss.
Now, the greatest of all things sat at home in Disney pajamas making messes and
giggling at one another. The allure of perceived success and contribution still
existed for me. However, nothing meant more than time with my daughters and
husband.
I felt like a fraud as I considered these things. I
marched around in lipstick and heels with ideas and strategies and all the
while I was really just a mushy mom with sticky spots in my hair and a
diaper in my purse. Who taught me that these things were incongruent?
Finally, my plane arrived and off came a beleaguered
mother and her very young toddler. Exasperated, she asked the scary gate
attendant for a wheel chair. As her little one screamed and drew the billion
eyes of the terminal crowd she explained that she was a navy nurse moving to
Minnesota from California. Through swallows of air she announced that she had
been in a car wreck and she could barely walk let alone pick up her distressed
child.
I stood there watching her with complete empathy. As I
pondered how to approach her the gate attendant that I had so unfairly judged
asked to hold the child. With the mother's approval she playfully wooshed him
into the air with smiles and a silly, child-friendly greeting. In an instant
she calmed him, gained his trust, and had him smiling. Here in the chaos and
the bad weather and frustrated travelers she had stopped time for me with this
not so small act of kindness.
My eyes filled with tears. I fought them back with
embarrassment as a lump formed in my throat. I was touched by her kindness, by
the child's sweetness, the mother's desperation. I wanted to smile, to cry, to
applaud, to join the attendant in playing with this little child. I blinked and
put away my tears, thinking of those who might notice. I heard the critical
voice of some tired, old school-of-thought mocking me with my well-traveled bag
and laptop of ideas and heart of ambition. I heard it size me up and seeing my
vulnerabilities say, "see! This is why women shouldn't be leaders."
And I thought, perhaps, this is exactly why we should.
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