Graceful is not my middle name.

I am not a particularly graceful person. I stumble a lot. I drip liquids on myself daily. I say the wrong thing with too many words and with too much enthusiasm. I snap and bite and lose patience. I dwell on perception. There are times when grace is the finish line and only a speck in the distance.

Let’s come back to this.

I write these words while thousands of feet in the air. My mother and I are seated near the jet of the small plane and my voice vibrates when I speak. She is sleeping, I cannot.

There is a woman with two boys seated in front of me. The elder of the two is very needy: he hasn’t ceased to speak since he was buckled in his seat. He asks his mother questions repeatedly: “When will we take off? Why haven’t we left yet? When will we eat? Will I get to shower later? Why is that person standing? Are we still going to Disneyland? Do you love me?” The questions are followed by a series of statements: “I want to read. I am thirsty. There isn’t enough arm room. I have a paper cut. This book is funny. He called me weird. I dripped some water. My sock is wet…etc.” The younger of the two boys is whiny, but far more tolerable then his brother. Both of the boys are very polite.

Their mother is extremely patient. She acknowledges each utterance. She does not enable the elder son’s neediness, but shows him love and gives him an appropriate amount of attention. This woman is quickly becoming my hero. If you look up “graceful” in the encyclopedia, you’ll probably see a photo of this woman.

Rewind a couple months ago to my last plane ride to LA: same purpose, far different circumstances. This trip will require considerably more grace than the last one. Maybe if I say the word over and over again, it will start to describe me: graceful, graceful, graceful, graceful, graceful…

Maybe not.

Okay, time to circle the wagons.

I feel as though, in the “Race to Grace,” I am running with a twisted ankle and the woman in front of me is an Olympic athlete. I don’t think I will ever get THAT good. Yes, yes, I understand the whole “clumsiness is character” bit – but it gets a bit old.

Hey, “Race to Grace” rhymes. That’s fun!

Yikes, I am losing focus. Also, my metaphors are lame.

Graceful. Graceful. Graceful. Graceful.