The Middle

When I was in junior high, I had to ride the bus to and from school ... and I hated it. Not the bus itself, but having to ride the bus. I hated riding the bus for many reasons, not the least of which was that I always somehow managed to be the last kid to get to the bus stop halfway down the hill on my street ... and it was my own fault. Back then, I actually slept well and I just didn't want to get out of bed earlier so that I could be first in line to get on the bus. Looking back, life would have been so much easier had I hauled my lazy butt out of bed 10 minutes sooner ... oh, the trauma I could have saved myself if I would have simply gotten up earlier. But alas, my love of sleep outweighed my disdain of sitting in the middle of the old-time bench seats between Jimmy and Mitchell, and thus, that's where I spent the 25-minute bus ride every morning for three long and tortuous years when I was in junior high.

My hatred of sitting between the two boys on the bus all those years ago had nothing at all to do with the boys ... as I recall, they were actually very nice to me. I didn't like being in the middle of the seat because I felt confined ... trapped ... penned in with no means of escape should the bus be sucked up by a tornado or a tractor trailer smash into it or aliens kidnap the driver sending it careening off a bridge into the river. I know, I know ... those fears make you see my fear of storms and airplanes in a whole new light, eh? Irrational or not, I hated the feeling of not being able to move, of being stuck, of being unable to get out of the seat. And yet, even though it was within my power to do something to change where I sat on the bus, I didn't ... rather than put forth the extra effort to change, I relegated myself to the middle seat for all that time.

By the time I purchased my airline tickets to Canada, the flights were fairly well-booked and I had to take what I could get as far as seat choices went. I managed to get window seats on both flights going to Edmonton, but for my return trip, I had no choice on both flights but to sit in the middle seat between two other passengers. I was teary as I boarded the first plane, still emotional from saying goodbye to my son Matt, so I was abundantly pleased when I reached my assigned row that I was the first one there. Eventually, the other two passengers arrived, and the minute I saw them, I knew it was most likely going to be an interesting ride.

The gentleman who sat on my left was a Messianic Jew, and the young woman who sat on my right was a professional women's hockey player. I remember thinking that I couldn't have been seated between two other people on the entire plane who could have been more different from one another, and over the next three and a half hours, I discovered I was completely correct in my initial analysis. I'll spare you the details of the conversations that ensued, but I can assure you they were most interesting and packed with life lessons for me. In fact, I haven't been able to get some of the things we talked about out of my mind, and I'm sure I'll be thinking about them for a long while to come.

I realized some things during my time in the middle on the plane last Monday, things I never really thought about before. I've spent a lot of my life in the middle ... in the middle feeling confined, trapped and penned in. I was so focused on being stuck and unable to move or get out that I missed the beauty of what surrounded me ... I missed the beauty of the journey. I'm learning there are times in life when being in the middle is the perfect place to be ... times when being in the middle teaches you more than you ever imagined ... times when being in the middle is the very best ride of all.