I was very excited last week because I was looking forward to spending the weekend with my 9-year-old niece. My nieces and nephews do not live in the Bay Area and, with soccer, dancing, school, and various other child-related activities, we spend much less time with them than we would hope. Besides, this wasn’t just any trip to Aunt Kristin’s house. This trip would represent my niece’s first solo plane flight- an adventure that seemed quite possible owing to the fact that she lives in Los Angeles and would only need to be on a plane for about 50 minutes. We were all a bit hesitant, wondering if it felt too soon and if she was too young, but my niece only displayed great confidence and enthusiasm, leading us all to believe that not only would she enjoy the plane ride but that she may, in fact, make friends with everyone seated around her as she entertained them with stories of her soccer try-outs, her knowledge of dogs and their various behaviors, or her love of High School Musical. All week prior to her trip, she sent text messages to us all, describing what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go, what she wanted to eat, and what she was bringing on the plane. The night before, she called to say goodnight and let me know that “Puppy”, her beloved and somewhat ragged chocolate lab stuffed animal, was all set to fly on the plane and that she had made sure to pack his special blanket, since “it was sometimes really cold on planes and he might need it”.
The morning of her arrival, I got a phone call that woke me from my delightfully deep sleep I was enjoying at the time. It was my brother, telling me in a heavy voice, that my niece would not be coming. My niece, it seems, had been incredibly confident and assured all the way up to the point when the plane was on the tarmac, waiting its turn to take-off. It was then that she began to cry, then panic, then meltdown. The thoughtful, and patient flight crew knew quickly that taking off with a little girl in this state would probably not be good for anyone and quickly brought the plane back to the gate where she could be off-loaded and reunited with her concerned and slightly humored father. “It’s okay,” he’d said to her in his gentle way, “Sometimes you just have to try something and know that if you’re not ready, it’ll be okay. You don’t have to go if you don’t feel ready to go.” And that was exactly what she needed to hear. She quickly decided that, for now, flying solo was something that she wasn’t quite ready for- and that was okay.
Later that day, I thought about how my brother had managed the situation and what he was able to convey to my niece. He wasn’t concerned about her not getting to San Francisco, or that he would have to hassle with the airlines later to exchange the ticket. He was focused on her experience and what she felt able to do and supported her without judgment. I realized how easy it is to look at where we didn’t do what we’d set out to do and see it as a failure. Yet we all need permission to recognize and respect our limits- even if those limits are only there for a moment. It is in the process of meeting and experiencing our limits, regardless of how we respond to them, that we learn so much about ourselves. Maybe we learn that it is time to take a leap, to forge ahead despite our fear, or to listen to our hesitation and honor what it is that we truly need to do in that moment, even if it is not what others hope for us. Sometimes, choosing to say, “I’m not ready” takes the greatest courage.