The Journey Begins

One of the strangest things about airports — much like a journey itself — is the movement. Everyone is going somewhere; everyone has a destination and a goal. For the minute, it may be grabbing a bite to eat before a flight. For the hour, getting through security. For the day, going home or visiting a friend, maybe even a much needed vacation.

Today, the first day of the Equality Ride, airports were not about movement. And, at least temporarily, my journey for the full equality of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender persons was at a completely molasses and utterly stagnant halt. At ten thousand feet, and only seventy miles outside of Minneapolis, Minnesota — my final destination for the day’s travel — my plane was redirected to St. Louis to avoid one of the biggest storms Minneapolis has seen all year.

Our plane was not alone. Five Equality Riders were stranded in Arkansas. Seven in Philadelphia. Others sporadically across the nation. Apparently, the airport at Minneapolis closed for the day. Milwaukee, Chicago…all closed. And I quickly noticed that I was not alone either: everyone else seemed to be very annoyed that we were not moving. My roommates and fellow Riders (Emil and Mike), equally frustrated, waited in line with the sixty or so people from our flight hoping to somehow make it into Minneapolis. Banter and conversation were focused and fluid: casually dipping into the lives of the strangers made-friends by similar circumstance but always alighting on the circumstance itself.

Why was there only on ticket agent working with passengers? What was wrong with the computer system? Does it really take an hour (yes, really) to process one passenger through the line? When are we going to get going again? Why is our plane still at the gate? Why are we not on it? I found myself more annoyed — practicing non-violence in my thoughts was growing difficult by now — by my fellow passengers. Growing increasingly more irritable, some seemed like loose cannons. They took every little opportunity to complain, leaving no stone of the human failings of their ticket agents, pilots, customer service agents, and baggage employees unturned and unearthed. Every mote was thoroughly explored, measured, and calculated. If ever the messengers of this “Act of God” were killed, it was then.

Yet in the eleventh (okay, only sixth) hour of waiting, we found ourselves plopped down on the carpeted floor next to a beautiful, endearing, bright middle-aged lady called Renee. She instantly found favor by announcing she was a “liberal” and a chemist. And later — after our brilliant and lone ticket agent secured us hotel and food vouchers — we sat posing for a picture in a TGI Fridays for our waitress, saying “cheese”. A connection: human, intimate, surreal, and eternal. We have the photo to prove it.

I found myself wondering: Who am I here for? I have already stated my purpose, time and time again. This is about equality. This is about making safe spaces from the “acts of God” misused and misinterpreted by the unrealized and ignored human connections of generations of hate, oppression, and fear. This is about love. This is about growth and progress. This is about saving lives.

But sometimes, we get so wrapped up in our causes and so beleaguered by our circumstances that we miss the mark that makes it real: those moments, intimate and eternal, that always appear unexpectedly. For how else can they to mortals. We gratefully cannot and will not see the future: not the completion of our goals from far-off nor any of the moments along the way. Nevertheless, I hope we will pray for and welcome the moments of diversion. To meet in St. Louis excuse the pun — when we should be in Minneapolis. To do more than sit on the carpet with the stranded of humanity but to eat with them, asking the right questions. To remember that motes should be unearthed in ourselves and left alone in others, at least within reason. Finally, to recognize that we serve specific individuals as we serve the cause, missing neither the forest nor the trees of human suffering.

As for Renee, let her be reminded that she has a standing invitation to visit us at Pepperdine University as we visit her hometown of Los Angeles.

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