Our 9-year-old snapped this picture as we stuffed our masked selves into the airplane row early Monday.
The last time we did this as a family?
Last March.
When we were first learning the realities of a global pandemic.
I remember going through security in Ft. Myers on the way back to KC, seeing the early mark-wearing adopters, wondering what in the world the world was coming to.
Flying home to a toilet paper-less and panic-full KC.
To a revenue line in our business that was plummeting almost as quickly as the Dow Jones did.
And to a team who I was worried might face the same fate.
And yet, the bottom surfaced. Some semblance of solid ground emerged. And the waves that pummeled us beneath the surf, slowly softened.
That wasn’t the case for everyone, I acknowledge that. But even in our collective pain, and in the stripping of the comfortable, didn’t this last year produce some beauty?
Blossom some hope?
Foster some connection?
I don’t know about you, but for me, I’m often captivated and fixated on the outcome. On the destination. On the journey ahead.
That I often forget to enjoy the trip itself.
Even when it’s turbulent. Maybe especially when it’s turbulent.
Hang on friends, it’s been a bumpy ride, but joy is all around regardless.
