Feb 22, 2016
One of the best feelings, for me anyway, is found on a plane. I am patiently in my designated seat. Trapped, in a good way. No responsibilities or anything to tend to, just awaiting that moment when the plane reaches its near maximum speed for the take off. My adrenaline kicks in because I love the thrill of things. The speed. However, it’s not just that. The idea of flying and being a part of an idea that was once impossible really makes you believe. Believe that you can be an outlier and succeed.
Impossible, huh? Not so much anymore. There was a quote by Jk Rowling I stumbled upon the other week: “Anythings possible if you’ve got enough nerve.” Yes JK! I’m a sucker for these inspirational quotes. Honestly, it’s what keeps me going or kept my chin up this past two years. It’s a true statement though.
Another one that comes to mind is, “if your dreams don’t scare you than they aren’t big enough”. People laughed at the two Wright brothers who thought they could one day fly. They took them as a joke and thought possible psychiatric evaluations should be considered. Nope, what they had was some serious nerve and now flying is as easy as purchasing a concert ticket.
Traveling just does it for me. For other people, it may be their family, sports, cooking…whatever it may be. It may be because being around different cultures is within my bones. My father being from Ireland I had the luxury of living in Ireland for months on end in the summertime and being fortunate enough to call it my second home. You know what, I love being Irish. It’s something a hold close to my heart because that’s what my father instilled in my siblings and I. I love talking about being Irish, eating Irish, drinking Irish, just Irish everything. It has only heightened since he passed away. I have Irish books sitting by my bed, worn out from my fathers travels and such. Yet, cracking them open to read has become so difficult because I’m afraid a lot of times. Downright scared.
Finding a connection with him is easy, I know how to do it. I just don’t want to do it. It brings me pain because it’s making things real for me. Sometimes it is as if he’s on a long vacation, back in Ireland, and he will be back soon enough. That’s why it’s been difficult to crack open his James Joyce book. He loved reading…I definitely get that from him.
There is this one book from him that he let me borrow, well so I thought. It is a book on Mary Robinson, a former president of Ireland. He recommended I read anything that pertained to Irelands history. Sometimes I reminisce on how smart my father truly was, but he never had the ability to nurture that intelligence in such a way he could have. So that book, come to find out that my father actually gave it to me. I for some odd reason decided to open it up because I was deciding on what I wanted to take with me to LA. Crack open the first page and slowly turned the pages, tear droplets rolling down subtly and calmly. So there it was, a marking by my father with a note to me. Here I go, nearly about to cry again as I’m writing this to you. Here’s what it said:
To Angela, Lots of Love. Dad. March 30th, 2013.
My droplets turned to waterfalls. It wasn’t much, but my father wasn’t much for being emotive. He was Irish, I mean, what did you expect. His dark sense of humor and avoidance was how he dealt with sadness, just as any Irish man. So there I sat, stunned at what lay before my eyes, I finally had something my father specifically gave to me. This might also be a best feeling, a bittersweet one at that.