Perspective

They took my brand new bottle of no-rub contact solution. My tired eyes welled up in frustration—a trait of mine I find pathetic yet am usually powerless to stop—as I tried to explain that I’ve flown with United several times in the past few months and they have never taken my saline before.

“You have two options. I can throw it out, or you can go back and check your baggage.”

Check a bag through Chicago O’Hare and run the high risk of it not arriving in Dallas on time—or at all? No thanks.

I flopped down, sighing more than was necessary, in a thin and ragged airport chair in front of my gate. Out of one ear I heard the somber voice of a news anchor coming from a distant television.

“The lucky survivors have taken to sleeping in the streets since their homes, schools and shelters were leveled.”

Oh.

Right.

Wow.

As I allowed the heart-wrenching BBC World photos I stayed up too late last night looking through creep back into my mind, I wondered how I had managed to get so worked up over a $2 bottle of Target brand saline when a level of pain so unfathomable to me was thrust, randomly and without warning, onto an entire population on Tuesday.

I pulled my legs up to my chest, letting my chin rest in the nook between my soccer-scarred knees and sat, listening as footage from Haiti streamed faintly from the corner of the waiting area.

An older man stepped in front of my unfocused gaze, and asked if I wouldn’t mind participating in a survey for Reagan National Airport. In fact, it was the last thing I was in the mood to do; the warmth of my legs and of my chest had combined forces against the chilly airport air, and I was sitting comfortably in my own quiet contemplation. But as I glanced up, excuses at the ready on my tongue, I noticed how worn he looked from rejection. He was pulling a battered briefcase, bursting with blank booklets and unfilled forms, an indication of the day’s failure.

It will only take fifteen minutes, he pleaded.

I smiled at him, at the small chance I was being given to help someone, at the millions of levels of struggle that exist simultaneously in humanity… and for the next hour proceeded to answer a battery of the most mundane airport-related survey questions. Karma works in mysterious ways...

-- Update: 1/18/09 --

Back home, my mum and brother rallied our neighborhood and brought a packed car of supplies yesterday to the Haitian Embassy. Check out my brother's highly energetic documentation of the afternoon: YOU CAN HELP HAITI!!!