time to dance

Three eager girls, myself included, almost hopped onto the LAX to London Heathrow flight tonight to arrive in England tomorrow afternoon, but the flight's availability was not promising. After waffling back and forth we decided to leave from San Diego, Chicago serving as our overnight pit stop before reaching our British destination on Tuesday. Our itinerary is full once we arrive in London, and I worry that it will be a lot of running around like the hurried blokes we will be, more than soaking in the surroundings. As long as I can sit with a cup of tea, English Breakfast perhaps, and read a few pages of Jack Kerouac on the grassy lawn of Hampton Court, I will be content. Contentment is an art that I continually strive to master. But the key of contentment is to stop striving, so therein lies the predicament! Maneuvering ourselves around the city will be a feat on its own. Earlier, one of the girls asked if the Louvre was a highway; oh my, how much we have to learn.

The last time I flew from San Diego was back when I was still a kid in high school itching for a new adventure, as Dad and I visited the school that became home to me. I remember how mesmerized I was peering out of the window at the coastline, fearful and dreamy about California posing as the backdrop for my future. The relationships and learnings that followed suit took center stage before that backdrop. The golf club in Rancho Santa Fe over on the ritzy side of San Diego served as an impeccable backdrop for the wedding of two dear friends yesterday. The bride looked stunning. And the faces of Warren and Emily as she graced down the aisle were full of the journey and the arrival and the promise they share. It was the idyllic photography moment, and I was positioned perfectly, but it was a sacred moment. I did not want to maime it with even the click of a camera. Besides, it would have taken my focus towards the camera rather than heaven at work. When a couple has been together for five years and is still so smitten and committed to each other, their love speaks volumes, and I think it's just a small shimmering glimpse of Christ's love for us.

I also have a piece to say about dancing. Dancing, I'm convinced, is an outward liberation of the soul. There is something incredibly free and beautiful about it. With that said, I have never liked dancing much. I enjoyed the watching of it, but I always felt uncomfortable and stiff, the slightest bit like my hips didn't move in the right manner to look cohesive. Last night, with the dance floor bursting, and the tunes ranging from Michael Jackson to Miley Cyrus, I danced. Barefoot and brazen. I danced so much that my calves are sorry for it today, and I probably looked more ridiculous than ever; it was glorious. The way I see it, if I can dance, then I should, because opportunities are worthy of being seized!

So we are situated in Chicago, in the inbetweenness which currently seems to define my life. However, we are not in downtown Chicago; we are in the podunk outskirts of Chicago. Our excitement extends as far as the greasy food from the DQ across the street where they proclaim their abilities to both "grill and chill." O'Hare is a maze of an airport and I am pretty sure that we weaved through the underground of the entire state of Illinois to get to the Shuttle area. Arrival is a relative term, but we made it. Relatively.