Traveling Westward

Tiny City: View of San Francisco from the prop plane. 

I've found there are a few advantages to being deaf when traveling. Sure, it can be a hassle dealing with communication breakdowns, and I'm always a little afraid I'm going to get plowed down by one of those souped-up golf carts because I usually can't hear their warning 'ding' as they hurtle up the concourse behind me. (I heard it just fine this time because I had my cochlear implant on! That subject is another post for another day.)

For all the things I have to "put up" with as a deaf person, I've learned to take full advantage of the perks when they are available -- and not feel guilty about it. Take my departure from Chicago O'Hare on United Airlines to San Francisco. Instead of being "on alert," watching people, and trying to figure out when I was supposed to board the plane, I went up to the gate agent and asked if she could let me know when I could board. Instead, she told me I could pre-board, and I was the first person to set foot on the plane. 

Not fair, you say? Try this on for size: Go to the airport with your ear buds in and music turned on full blast and see how well you can function. You'll miss gate change announcements; try to board at the wrong time and sometimes be asked to wait and board with the right group (it's happened!); walk through TSA and not be able to tell whether or not you set off the alarms (and try not to make TOO much eye contact at the same time); stand in the bookstore with a backpack on, blocking an entire aisle and be engrossed in a dust cover while a ticked-off person stands behind you repeatedly asking you to please move -- and when you finally feel their presence, you feel like a complete loser. Once you get on the plane, keep them on. You'll miss the announcements about flight delays, when you can turn your electronics back on, and notifications of upcoming turbulence (that's an especially fun one to miss out on). I could keep going, but you get the idea.

Rainy skies at O'Hare

On my flight from O'Hare to San Francisco, there was a delay. Or maybe more than one? I have no idea what the holdup was, but we sat at the gate way past our departure time, then on the runway a while longer. All I could think about was that I was going to miss my connecting flight in San Francisco. 

What made it funny (ok, not funny for anyone else) was that there was a crying, screaming toddler in the seat behind me. I probably would not have noticed it if Cute Guy in the seat next to me hadn't pointed it out with his uncomfortable body language and pointed looks over his shoulder. Or if several other passengers hadn't turned their heads to look in my direction, making me wonder what was going on behind me. I probably didn't help Cute Guy's displeasure much by telling him I couldn't hear a thing (I'd switched my implant off by this time, since the airport din had overwhelmed me). For once, it was nice to be oblivious.

When we landed in San Francisco I had a negative amount of minutes to grab my bag and run to my connection. Eleven gates away seems like an eternity, especially when you have to pee. Somehow, I made it -- and in the end, I could have just walked because the flight was delayed. It was pretty neat to fly on a prop plane!

Prop plane that was my transportation from SFO to Crescent City, California

My seat was next to the propeller, which I am sure was very loud, just based on the vibrations. I saw the flight attendant pop in some earplugs before takeoff. The views were great! I even got a glimpse of the remote St. George Reef Lighthouse as we went in for our landing. This lighthouse was first lit in 1891 and is not accessible to the public because of its hazardous location six miles offshore. 

St. George Reef Lighthouse

More photos & stories to come! These are just plane window photos. I was in awe all week, walking through the groves of redwoods, watching the Pacific Ocean, and even  a bonus trip to Crater Lake National Park. 

Stay Positive

Starting the week off with a dose of positive: 

There is little difference in people, but that little difference makes a big difference. The little difference is attitude. The big difference is whether it is positive or negative. 
W. Clement Stone

(My One Little Word for 2014 is Positive.)

It can be hard to stay positive when you're around people who have phrases like "you can't," "that would never work," and "it's too hard to do it that way,"  embedded in their vocabulary -- and then don't understand why you disagree. 

I had a conversation full of those words at a Deaf event Friday night. I won't go in to details -- they aren't the point. The point is that your attitude does indeed make a huge difference. Negativity is so energy-sapping, a waste of time, and just holds you back from your potential. 

When you're a child, it's so easy to take the words "you can't" as a challenge to go and defy the odds. When you're an adult with an invisible disability, jaded by the years, you start to wonder if the words "you can't" just might be true. You need reminders they're just words, tools to stay strong, positive thinking to push back against the negative.  

Imagine my smile when I opened my blog feed to see today's topic over at Marc and Angel Hack Life  (one of my favorite blogs): 15 Powerful Beliefs that Will Free You from Negativity. Timely advice. And I really like that the author says he has them written down in his journal so he can look at them to keep them fresh in his mind.  I'm printing the list of 15 beliefs out and keeping it in my journal. I hope you do, too. 

Finding Balance

This year, I've gotten away from running -- mainly because of an injury but also because, well, truth be told, I haven't really enjoyed it. Getting a migraine every time I run a 5k -- no matter how hydrated I am -- isn't really my idea of a good time. I may run again once my foot heals. We'll see. I know Baxter would really appreciate it. 

In the meantime, I've been pushing myself to get out of my comfort zone a bit more this year. As an introvert, that's not always an easy thing to do. I've never really been fond of group-type exercise (this traces back to middle, junior, and senior high school traumas), but this year, I've made a genuine effort to try out some new classes. After all, we're all supposed to be adults here, right? And you know what? I'm enjoying them!

I've tried yoga with three different instructors and found one I really like working with. I've also tried a deep-water cardio class (yes, with the old ladies, but in the deep end of the pool!). I had a streak of 6 weeks in a row of Monday night yoga going -- broken only because of a migraine this week. I love, love Monday night yoga. I'm getting stronger all the time. It's the best part of Mondays for me and I look forward to it every week.

Yoga can be a bit of a challenge for a deaf person, as many of the poses require you to have your head down/in a relaxed position while you listen to the instructor. I've learned to let things go, to do what I can, and that the more I practice, the better and more comfortable I get. They call it yoga practice for a reason. 

Yoga's second challenge is the balance factor. Balance has been a huge issue for me ever since I lost my hearing when I was 5. Many people don't know how hard I've worked to get my balance to where it is today. I'm very lucky that I have a stubborn streak and parents who were willing to drag me to and from gymnastics and swimming lessons, to the barn and horse shows, and to encourage me to keep on picking myself up off the ground, get back up and do it again. And again. 

When I first came home from the hospital after a battle with meningitis (I won, but my hearing was lost forever), I still remember vividly not being able to stand up, of falling over all the time. Walking uphill was a challenge. Downhill? Downright dangerous. For some reason, the balance thing stands out more in my memory than not being able to hear. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe because it was something I could battle myself, something I could control little by little, and slowly overcome. 

I remember swimming lessons that turned into chaos when I had to dive underwater and I could not tell which way was up, down, or sideways. (I went on to swim in college.) Horseback riding and gymnastics helped fine-tune my balance; falling down never really seemed to hurt my pride. I'd just brush it off and get on with things. A family trip to Montana's Big Sky country tested my resolve -- and probably the patience of everyone on the trip with us -- as the altitude threw my balance so off-kilter that I could not stay upright on cross-country skis at first. The stories go on and on.

Today -- nearly 35 years later -- I still struggle with the balance, still push the limits, and still smile. And yes, I still fall. I just fell in yoga class a few weeks ago, toppling over after losing my balance trying to deepen a simple pose. Lisa, meet wall, meet water bottle, meet floor. All I could do was laugh at myself and then try to contain the giggles for the rest of the class. And then on days like today I beam because I have made -- for me -- a large improvement in the tree pose, actually standing on one foot, looking off into the horizon, breathing deeply. In yoga, you are working on yourself and how your body is in that moment -- you are not comparing yourself to anyone else, not even your former or future self. Just here and now. Allowing yourself to simply be is a really good feeling. It's taken me a long time to learn that.