As I type this, a few friends of mine are at the Orlando airport getting ready to fly to Denver for a few days of skiing in Vail. I’m supposed to be in Denver right now, staying at the Hampton Inn next to the airport. I was supposed to have had a strategic meeting yesterday with PSA (a valuable partner and customer of mine), and after I deliver a webinar at 11:00 ET today for one of my favorite clients, I was supposed to stroll downstairs and meet my friends… off to Vail. The timing was perfect. I had never skied in Colorado – I have an annual trip to Lake Tahoe that I skipped this year to join my Orlando friends, and I’ve been really looking forward to trying my limited skills on the powder. After three days of skiing, we were going to gather for the Superbowl to cap off the trip. I couldn’t wait. Then, on Tuesday night at about 8:30…
I started feeling funny. I’ll skip the details because most of you have had this experience: that stomach bug – some call it a stomach flu – hit me. When I was supposed to leave for the airport on Wednesday morning, I was unable to get out of bed. I had to cancel my flight. No big deal, this will be gone in 36 hours and I’m flying on Southwest - they let you change your flight with no penalty. Yeah, that’s true. However, have you ever tried to book a flight to Denver in February with one day’s notice? For me to get out there tomorrow would cost more than most trips to Europe. I can’t justify the cost for what is now two days of skiing. So, here I sit, feeling much better physically, my friends taking off in 35 minutes, and I’m not in Denver waiting for them – I’m writing this post in my home office. I’ll give you a few minutes to grab your Kleenex.
Two summers ago my wife was making fun of me to a group of her friends. We had a vacation planned at a resort where our meals were prepared ahead of time. They had asked if we had any allergies and I replied: “No allergies, but I hate onions and peppers.” She and her friends thought that was funny. One of her friends, an African American named John said one of the funniest, simplest, and impactful things: “… sounds like white people problems”. (His name isn’t really John, but someone might take his comment too seriously when it was actually perfectly timed and appropriate.) I’ve repeated his comment in my head 100 times since then, at least. The impact his statement has had on me isn’t race related and this wasn’t the first time I had heard it or something similar like “first world problems”, “American problems”, etc. For some reason, John’s comment stuck with me. Maybe it was his delivery or timing. I’m not sure why, but I don’t care. It’s helped me take a better perspective on things and emotionally understand that my problems, for the most part, would be gifts for 95% of the world’s population.
Ok, let’s return to my awful scenario … 27 minutes to take off to Denver and I’m still here typing. Since they’re on Southwest, it’s likely that my friends have boarded already. I still feel bad, but I’ll be 100% by tomorrow morning – and there’s the rub… when my friends are riding the first lifts of the weekend, I’ll be perfectly fine.
Guess what? Yep, you got it … first world problems. Of course I feel a little bummed, and that’s natural. What’s unnatural is taking it too far and feeling sorry for myself. Many would claim that self-pity is expected and natural. No, self-pity is a normal response to this situation, but it’s not natural. There is a chasm between “natural” and today’s “normal”. Instead of loathing, I’ve decided to realize how lucky I am to even have the ability to plan a ski trip in the first place, to… ok, I’m not going to list everything for which I’m fortunate. You get the idea.
Regardless of race, gender, height, or jacket size, remember the meaning behind John’s comment throughout your days. It’s so simple, yet so helpful.
