I'm actually fine, if the plane moves as if on a sheet of glass. I can even handle it if the plane moves something like a car on a tarred road. But any sign of turbulence, and I can't even pretend to be holding it together.
I have even managed to embarrass the otherwise imperturbable Mr Namasi during one particularly rough flight from Oregon, when we caught the edge of a storm that had disrupted air travel all over the US. I can't say I blame him: I was praying in tongues... at the top of my voice. And begging the crew to stop and let me off.
It's the powerlessness, you see. I mean even the pilot can't do a damned thing about the conditions. S/he just has to take us through them. Hopefully safely to the other side. We are all totally at the mercy of forces more powerful than anything we can control. If an air pocket decides to open up and suck the plane a few hundred feet earthwards...so be it. Down we go. If an updraught chooses to slam into the underside of the plane and send us upwards... up we go.
I've used the words 'decides' and 'chooses' as if the forces of nature are sentient. As if they have a will. But I think the fact that they don't makes it worse: they are implacable. They can't be reasoned with. It's not personal: they're not vindictive. They will simply do what they do - what they have always done - without a thought for our convenience, comfort or safety. No matter how much I might beg and plead for them to stop, they are without remorse.
Mr Namasi and I were comparing notes about the place we find ourselves at the moment. And it's so very much like this. I've used the word 'turbulent' to describe life and circumstance before. But today it really hit home how very much like flying through turbulence our current situation really is. We are utterly at the mercy of the circumstances in which we find ourselves.
The closure of John's company: beyond his control. The loss of my workshop: beyond my control. The impenetrability of the job market for the over 50s: beyond our control. The delays in the sale of our house: beyond our control. The factors that led to the closure of the shop where I have working: beyond my control (and pretty much beyond the control of the friend who owns the shop, too). We have some control over the rate at which our bank balance changes, but no control over the inexorable direction of that change.
Our circumstances are what they are. It's not personal. It's not like 'they' are or 'it' is out to get us. And we're being buffeted and blown hither and yon.
We're both desperate for it to stop. We're bruised, battered and exhausted. And yet it goes on. And we have no idea when - or even if - it's going to stop.
When you're flying from A to B, you have some idea of the maximum duration of the discomfort of turbulence. In roughly x hours and y minutes, the plane will land, and you can disembark and - if you feel so inclined - kiss the unspeakably unhygienic ground.
We don't have that assurance. We don't know how much longer this is going to go on. And it's the utter helplessness we find so difficult to deal with.
We have been repeatedly blessed by friends and family with gifts of evenings out, groceries, a couple of days away. I have managed to sell a few of my kreations. We are deeply appreciative of the ongoing trickle of small blessings during this turbulent patch. But we yearn desperately for smoother sky or - better yet - a handy airport. We cling to each other for support and pray... no, wait. Is it still called praying if you're alternating between pleading and throwing a tantrum? We're doing whatever that's called.
Is this flight ever going to even out? Is it ever going to land safely? Is it going to crash?
And of course, now that my thoughts have moved in that direction, I'm imagining a cold caller saying "We have reason to believe you have been injured in an accident that wasn't your fault..."
"Yes, as it happens. My metaphorical plane has crashed into the side of a metaphorical mountain. Do you offer any kind of compensation?"
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