Recently I bought a painting from a local artist, Becky Blanck of Pouring My Passion, at the St. Peter music festival. In between bands, my daughter, Kaia, and I got up to walk around and shop the local vendors who were spread out around the perimeter of the park. We walked up to a tent with unique and vibrantly colored canvases, all abstract. One piece reminded me of Chris, my spouse. I am not referring to it as something I thought he would like, but instead it reminded me of him. Like his soul on canvas. It was stunning. There is depth of color, contrast, darkness and light; all leading the eye to the heart, to the gold, and even there, there is depth.
Kaia and I decided we should buy it for him for his upcoming birthday. I gave him a small gift the day before his birthday because I knew I was going to be flying the jet the next day. When I called home after arriving to my hotel after work, Kaia said Dad loved the painting. “Loved,” that seems like a strong word to describe a painting, coming from him. He brought it upstairs and set it on the bench press, leaning against the wall in our gym.
When I returned home, I picked it up to move it so I could use the bench press in a weight lifting session. Before I set it against a different wall, I noticed there was writing on the back of the canvas. The title was “In Between the Gold.” I turned it around to the front to gaze at it again now that I knew the inspirational title given to it by the artist. Also, let’s be real, I was just beginning to lift weights again, especially without the motivation of my trainer, and procrastinating may or may not have been a conscious thought during this painting transition. It was definitely subconscious in the least. Nonetheless, the title gave it more meaning. Seeing the painting, while knowing its name fed me inspiration.
When I looked at this exquisite painting, I was reminded how much of our lives are lived in between the gold. There are the moments that defy all exceptions. But most of my life are ordinary moments. Or are they?
When my father was dying, it was unexpected and fast. I had no time to process it during the time but looking back, I am grateful for the time. The moments I got to spend with him, cherishing our memories, they were gold.
When I am walking through airports, which I often am, and someone looks me in the eye as they walk by, I make sure I smile and say hello. A smile from a stranger is gold to me. Sometimes it turns into a whole conversation at the gate or on the plane. I love hearing what makes a person excited! Sometimes I ask, “what do you love to do?” It is an enticing question because it is a very different question than “what do you do?” Too many people don’t enjoy their profession. When they start to answer the question about what they love to do, their eyes light up and their body language changes. The gold. I love to raise my daughters with Chris and spend time with them and friends. I love to travel, ride horses and fly airplanes.
Just this morning I was at Flying Cloud Airport (KFCM) prepping the jet for departure to Miami. I met a new line service tech. The other one, whom I know, mentioned that this new one desperately wants to become a pilot and that she would relish talking with me. About the time they finished with their work, I was about to fire up the Auxiliary Power Unit (APU). I called out the jet door to ask if she had a couple of minutes before they returned across the airport. She approached and I said, “Come on in, you can help me start the APU.” She looked at me with a massive grin and wide eyes, “Are you serious?!”
“Yes. Welcome aboard!” I said. I climbed into my seat on the left and said “Go ahead and climb in over here, into the co-pilot’s seat.” Again, she couldn’t believe her ears and hesitated. “It’s OK!” I coaxed her. After she sat down, the sun was shining in the windscreens and I recognized the look on her face. It was the face where the muscles show joy, disbelief and absolute knowing, all at the same time. This young woman is going to make her way and become a pilot. I showed her which switches to flip and then how to start the APU. It is simple for us who are trained on the airplane, but magic to her. She has more fuel added to her desire to fly and it took me only a couple of extra minutes to include her and give her my time and attention. Gold.
The gold is in the adversity that brings us to a moment. Adversity is the paintbrush on our canvas of life, stroking in all the wrong ways until we step back and realize it created a masterpiece. This woman, she will have a long road to earn her wings as a professional pilot and need to figure out from where the money will come, but I have every faith that she will. I believe in her.
Six years ago, I broke my back in a horse riding accident. Before I broke my back, I had been depressed and lost, without feeling of purpose. All of my energy had gone into making a home, raising daughters, being a supportive wife and I lost myself somewhere in there. I was not vibrant. I was not happy. I was lost. It took breaking 8 vertebrae for me to reset. It was a scary time because had I not been wearing a helmet, I would not have survived the accident. Also, my spine was broken, very broken. If I did not completely focus on my healing, it would have life-long repercussions. During the healing process, which I could write a whole blog, no, a whole chapter, I learned to heal, to allow others to help me, the allow myself to love me and that what I wanted most, was to become a pilot.
I guarantee you that had I not experienced the adversity that followed a five-foot-fall from a horse, I would not be writing to you from the passenger seat of a Delta flight on my reposition flight home, having delivered my jet and its owner to Florida. Adversity, my friends, it makes the gold. There are no ordinary moments. Life is a gift. Love, our passions, interests, the people we choose to join the journey. How we want to spend our time and live our lives. Gold is mined by processing tons of rock to find a few nuggets that make it all worth it. But the journey… that’s the gold. Sometimes it takes looking back to realize it.