What Happens In Vegas

I recently had a girl’s weekend in Vegas. The timing wasn’t ideal, a week after moving into a house we’d been renovating (which had flooded twice at that point), and two weeks prior to turning the old house over to renters, (a secondary plan after buyers backed out, requiring I adapt with a new mindset and used copy of “Property Management for Dummies”). In short, there was plenty to do: the time could’ve easily been used for wiser pursuits, and the money allocated to the surprise French drain we installed. I know, poor me, no time for vacation with a new house to worry about. Don’t think I’m missing the obvious fact that I’m complaining about problems of luxury, but at the risk of being too indulgent, I continue my blabber to make a point.

Turbulence is a truth in Vegas. While I’m not one who generally fears flying, when it comes to 20-foot, mid-air drops, a little fear creeps in. I push away my parental guilt about leaving my kids at home, dismissing the thoughts of how they’ll do without me, hoping they find a good therapist to address the “Mommy abandoned me for a girl’s weekend” themes. I remind myself that my odds of dying on the road are far higher (but equally disturbing) and that turbulence is just a part of life in the warm skies over Vegas. I take a moment to belly breathe, and regret my decision to decline wine an hour earlier. I note that the flight attendants haven’t been cautioned by the captain to buckle in (my true cue for panic), and that, even if they were, I ultimately can’t do a damn thing about it.

Accepting the helplessness, I slip into a memory of a recent family trip. On that flight, my daughter and I sat in one row, with my husband and son several rows away. There was turbulence, but in that case, we were all together so guilt was absent. Despite my surge in adrenaline, I casually tightened my belt, so not to alarm my 4-year-old. Fellow passengers yelped in fear, as she screamed with glee, “It tickles my tummy, Mama.” I was struck by her complete lack of fear. The plane’s tummy tickle was just like the one at the Oaks Park roller coaster: something fun and exciting.

I wondered, at what age or point or state of mind does excitement turn to fear? Once we learn it, can we ever go back? Are some people more disposed to excitement while others fear? Or are the two just flip sides to one coin, inextricably linked?

A few months later, on that plane to Vegas, the thought of my 4-year-old’s glee helped ground me. I wasn’t indulging the fear of orphaning my children, the stress about flood damage, and the financial worry associated with multiple mortgages. Nope, on that day, I was letting go of life’s turbulence, letting the tickle in my belly be a sign of excitement. Excitement about a weekend of sun drenched lounging with a best friend, $7 magazines and a cabana boy. And the rest, as they say, stays in Vegas.