I’m sitting on my Southwest Flight to Austin, Texas. Tonight I speak to a whole bunch of student leaders at the Texas Association of Student Councils Middle Level Conference. I’m excited; it should be a fun group. This is my fifth day in a row of being on an airplane, yet this is the only day where some people expressed concern. Sure earlier in the week, people expressed concern with the quantity of flying, but never the safety.
I’d get:
“How’s the travel treating you?”
“Are you done with airports yet?”
“Do you know what time zone you’re in?”
Today, though, a few people dropped me notes to check if I was worried at all since I was flying on Friday the 13th. Southwest Airlines even did a quick little post on Friday the 13th fliers on their Twitter feed earlier today. But seriously, I have no worries.
I’m one of the few people in the world that view Friday the 13th as a good luck day.
No, I’m not morbid or some devil worshipper. I’m scared to death of scary films and refuse to see what Jason might do. That aspect isn’t cool.
But when Friday the 13th comes to mind, I don’t think of these things.
I think of Friday, November 13, 1987.
I realize many of you weren’t even born then. That’s fine. No, there wasn’t some great historical event on that day, but the day was special to me. You see, on Tuesday, November 10, 1987, I kicked the ball the same time as another kid at soccer practice, tripped, fell into a metal sprinkler, and broke my collar bone. The sound of the bone breaking was so loud that friends from my street, a few blocks away from the park, heard it, and came to the park. It still is the worse pain I felt to date. It was sudden, instant, and it burned. The pain was so sharp that it went up to my neck, causing concern in my medical transport to the hospital. I got home incredibly late that night, and assumed my position in the couch. I’d be there for the next few days.
Wednesday, November 11th hurt.
Thursday, November 12th hurt.
I’d take some medicine for the pain and would sleep as much as I could or watch late 80’s daytime TV (this was over a decade before my family had cable TV so my options were limited to The Price is Right, PBS programs, or a That’s Incredible rerun in syndication). Periodically, my mom would come in and check on me.
My least favorite parts of the day: eating, using the restroom, taking medicine, changing clothes. Why? Because every one of those moments required me to sit up. I could feel as if I was pain free, but whenever I had to sit up, the sharp pain shot through my shoulder again. There were times when I argued with my mom–me in tears–begging her not to have me sit up. Of course, I had to get up, but as a 2nd grader, I wanted nothing to do with it.
Then came Friday, November 13, 1987. My birthday was the following day. I wanted to have a party. I wanted to be with friends, but I knew I couldn’t do that with all the pain. My mom used my birthday party as a bit of motivation for me to try to be active. On that Friday, I tried to get focused, I dug deep, and I sat up.
I did it. But where was the pain?
The pain was gone! Not completely gone–my collarbone was still sensitive to touch, but I could lay down and sit up for the most part without any additional pain. I joked with my mom that day that Friday the 13th was my lucky day! Twenty-two years later I still feel that way.
It’s amazing how much a simple label or way of looking at something changes our experiences. I don’t get scared with the date (although a machete-wielding man in a hockey mask would always scare me regardless if it was a Friday or a Tuesday). I really do see it differently and it’s forever altered every Friday the 13th for me since.
Could we do this with other arbitrary fears? Running for office? First dates? Auditions or sports tryouts? Could we claim these simple moments as our good luck charms? Getting rid of some of that fear entering into a situation could be a nice touch.
So I’m going to enjoy the rest of my “lucky” day, and I hope you do as well.