Friday
Dec222006
Lost and Found
Friday, December 22, 2006 at 01:14PM I was standing in front of the Barnes & Noble bookshelf when I had my final holiday season psychiatric moment. I saw a book that I thought my father and brother-in-law would like to read. And then I thought to myself, what if they have already read it? Would they be insulted if I gave them the same gift? Where can I find a unique gift these days? Every city has the same shops, the same clothes, and the same books. What happened to my gift card only plan?
Do I need a straitjacket or what?
It was then that my meltdown moment morphed into an epiphany and I realized. “Oops, I forgot to leave the country.”
Let me explain. One of the best Christmases I can remember in my adult life took place a couple of years before I got married. Not that I don’t love being a mom/wife who celebrates both Hanukah and Christmas with different sides of the family (that would be 9 days of presents, thank you very much), but my mind often wanders back to 1998.
Sensing that it probably wouldn‘t be long before I was married, my parents took my sister and me on an adventure tour through Costa Rica for the holiday season. The plan was to meet up in the Miami airport and spend the night in a groovy hotel next to the ultra hip Delano.
Upon arrival, I grabbed my new purple duffel bag from baggage claim and hopped into the car. I was ready for a night out in Mambo Miami. In the hotel room, I went to unlock my bag and the key didn’t fit. I unzipped the side pocket and found a pair of men’s sneakers. “Who put their sneakers in my bag?” I thought. Until, Hello, I realized I had taken someone else’s bag. A duffle bag that looked identical to mine.
I called the airline but my bag was not at the airport. I tried not to panic. How was I going to reassemble my outdoor adventure wardrobe in 24 hours? What about my favorite pair of jeans? And super soft pajama pants? It’s only stuff, only stuff, I repeated to myself. Some new age-ism came back to me. Request. Release. Receive. So, I requested I get my bag back and released all importance about it. And then I did what any good woman does while attempting to transform panic into peacefulness: I pigged out on plantains and grilled chicken.
When I got back to the hotel room, I called the airline again. They had located my bag. A man on my flight had mistakenly taken it. And where was this man now? He was staying in the same hotel in the room right above me. True story, I swear.
My father, who is a mathematician, could not calculate the probability of my suitcase exchange, but we all knew it was quite low. If this had been a movie, my suitcase exchange mate would have become my long lost soul mate, but alas, we never met. I picked up my bag at the front desk the next morning, and headed down to Costa Rica.
The trip continued to be magical. To be in a country where there were no Christmas songs broadcast constantly and large mobs fighting for a parking spot, the holidays felt fresh. I will never forget a small house we passed with a Christmas tree on the front porch. The tree had no presents or fancy ornaments from Bloomingdales, just primary colored lights aglow in the evening sky. On a foggy Christmas morning, we exchanged small presents. I felt at peace and full of love for my family. There were no busy schedules to follow, no trash to compact and no distractions from the spirit of Christmas.
Even though I long for a Costa Rica Christmas, I know that this year I am where I belong. If we had left the country, my kids and I would not be able to experience the Sugar Plum Fairy’s dance at the Nutcracker Ballet, the gingerbread house sugar fest and the plane ride home to my parents’ house.
I now own a set of luggage that looks like no other. But if it happens to get lost, I will know I’m being reminded that life is full of small and simple miracles.
Do I need a straitjacket or what?
It was then that my meltdown moment morphed into an epiphany and I realized. “Oops, I forgot to leave the country.”
Let me explain. One of the best Christmases I can remember in my adult life took place a couple of years before I got married. Not that I don’t love being a mom/wife who celebrates both Hanukah and Christmas with different sides of the family (that would be 9 days of presents, thank you very much), but my mind often wanders back to 1998.
Sensing that it probably wouldn‘t be long before I was married, my parents took my sister and me on an adventure tour through Costa Rica for the holiday season. The plan was to meet up in the Miami airport and spend the night in a groovy hotel next to the ultra hip Delano.
Upon arrival, I grabbed my new purple duffel bag from baggage claim and hopped into the car. I was ready for a night out in Mambo Miami. In the hotel room, I went to unlock my bag and the key didn’t fit. I unzipped the side pocket and found a pair of men’s sneakers. “Who put their sneakers in my bag?” I thought. Until, Hello, I realized I had taken someone else’s bag. A duffle bag that looked identical to mine.
I called the airline but my bag was not at the airport. I tried not to panic. How was I going to reassemble my outdoor adventure wardrobe in 24 hours? What about my favorite pair of jeans? And super soft pajama pants? It’s only stuff, only stuff, I repeated to myself. Some new age-ism came back to me. Request. Release. Receive. So, I requested I get my bag back and released all importance about it. And then I did what any good woman does while attempting to transform panic into peacefulness: I pigged out on plantains and grilled chicken.
When I got back to the hotel room, I called the airline again. They had located my bag. A man on my flight had mistakenly taken it. And where was this man now? He was staying in the same hotel in the room right above me. True story, I swear.
My father, who is a mathematician, could not calculate the probability of my suitcase exchange, but we all knew it was quite low. If this had been a movie, my suitcase exchange mate would have become my long lost soul mate, but alas, we never met. I picked up my bag at the front desk the next morning, and headed down to Costa Rica.
The trip continued to be magical. To be in a country where there were no Christmas songs broadcast constantly and large mobs fighting for a parking spot, the holidays felt fresh. I will never forget a small house we passed with a Christmas tree on the front porch. The tree had no presents or fancy ornaments from Bloomingdales, just primary colored lights aglow in the evening sky. On a foggy Christmas morning, we exchanged small presents. I felt at peace and full of love for my family. There were no busy schedules to follow, no trash to compact and no distractions from the spirit of Christmas.
Even though I long for a Costa Rica Christmas, I know that this year I am where I belong. If we had left the country, my kids and I would not be able to experience the Sugar Plum Fairy’s dance at the Nutcracker Ballet, the gingerbread house sugar fest and the plane ride home to my parents’ house.
I now own a set of luggage that looks like no other. But if it happens to get lost, I will know I’m being reminded that life is full of small and simple miracles.
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