An Airport Metaphor

Last weekend, after listening to me vent about my current workload and stress for a breathless 38 minutes, Jack suggested that I return to blogging. Even if my entries are quick or incomplete, he reasons that I like seeing my growth and progress as reflected in my own writing.

So I will try. Blogging takes a lot of time but I'm willing to get back into the habit.

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My brain lately has felt like an airport; it is the closest metaphor illustrating my stress and chaos. There are constantly planes taking off and landing, with thousands of people running between terminals, each following their own itinerary. Much like that age-old metaphor discussing stress in terms of rocks and sand in a jar (rocks are the "big things"- health, family, friends, faith, etc. Pebbles are the smaller stressors- work, house, cars. Then there's the sand- the rest of our experiences that fills in our life.) For me, the airport is a perfect metaphor. The gates all represent different areas of challenge for me. The new job, the new city, new house, new hospital, lack of anything familiar (Meijer, church, dentist, etc.), and distance from Jack. Jack is now 160 miles and 3 hours away from me. I can't address any of the gates together; each gate needs its own space for discovery and subsequent adapting. Luckily, my friends and family accompany me to the various gates as I visit them, supporting me as I muddle through yet another huge life change. Jack's just a saint.

I then consider the airplanes. Planes, arriving and departing, represent the big projects and "things" weighing on me...the tasks and worries that wake me up at night and instigate my brain into an Indy 500-ish tizzy. I think about my big construction projects, a lingering management agreement, overdue contracts, threshold capital for 2014, festering employee issues, lawsuits, difficult physicians, homework for school, my practicum for Franciscan Leadership, leadership of the corporate radiology group (yes, somehow, that is falling to me even though I have exactly six business days' experience), painting of the old house, selling the old house, unpacking the new house, getting back into some sort of exercise routine, taxes...oh, the list keeps going. The airspace above my head is full with worries. Some planes are little Cessna's while others are jumbo jets. I need to land some of the planes to keep a sense of sanity.

But that's what transition is about. All of the people traveling through the airport have a purpose. I liken these to the small actions, behaviors, and choices that occur during the day. They all play some part in it- in advancing the overall wellbeing of the airport. They'll all eventually get to their destinations and at the end of the day, the airport will settle into a routine quiet, when all of the flights have departed.

I'm grateful for the terrific support and understanding of my family and friends. So much of my life has become survival; I'm so tired at night that I have yet to watch the fancy new television that Jack installed simply for my relaxation purposes. I turned it on one evening just to pass out cold before the commercial even ended.

Which brings me to my next airport metaphor: fuel. There is only so much gas to fuel the airplanes; once that supply is gone, the fleet is grounded. So I am trying to be cognizant that I only have so much time and energy. When I get out of bed each day to help advance a mission and serve our patients, the fuel supply lasts longer.

Last, I feel safe and secure in the knowledge that I do have a flight control deck at my airport, with God at the helm. He's going to keep all of my planes in the air, on schedule, and properly maintained. I don't like the expression "God is my co-pilot," so I'll say that "God is my air traffic controller."