Stomp it out

July 11, 2009

I have always liked the phrase, “Tread lightly.”  I’ve known some heavy steppers in my life, and quite frankly, they got on my nerves.  I once lived in an apartment below a heavy stepper.  She also happened to be a night owl.  I never got any sleep. 

My problem has always been the opposite.  I have a tendency to tiptoe through life, hoping no one will notice me.  I fight an ongoing battle against timidity and shyness, taking to heart another phrase I learned in childhood – to be seen and not heard. 

There is something to be said for treading lightly.  Rather than tiptoe, I think the phrase means that we should dance, and leave soft footprints rather than ugly holes behind us when we pass.

In recent years, I have worked hard to live a dancing life.  But last weekend, I found myself stomping; pounding my way through an airport alone to catch a connection flight home after a short and unsatisfying trip across the country.

There was something therapeutic in taking heavy steps.  With each stomp, a little tension was forced out through the bottom of my feet.  I watched people, as I always do in airports, thought random thoughts, and let my heavy steps beat a rhythm of release.

“I wonder where all these people are going?” I thought.  My feet came down, boom, boom, boom. 

“The nicest bathrooms are in Concourse C.”  Boom.

“Maybe I should pierce my chin like that guy.” Boom, boom.  

“McDonald’s is in Concourse G.” Boom, boom, boom.

“Ouch! I don’t think I’ll pierce my chin.”  Boom.

“I wonder what that guy would do if I sat in his chair and asked him to shine my sandals?”  Boom, boom.

“Concourse C! Thank God.”  Boom, boom, boom.

“How exactly does someone pierce a chin?  There seems to be a lot of bone in the way.”  Boom, boom.

“Why do I always choose to wash my hands in the sink furthest from the paper towels?” Boom, boom, boom.

“I would break my leg if I wore those shoes through the airport.” Boom.

“Wow, I’m taking really heavy steps.” Boom, boom, boom.

“Concourse G must be close.  I smell the savory scent of McGrease.” Boom, boom.

“What are these people doing shopping in the airport?  How will they carry all that stuff onto the plane?”  Boom.

“This airport could really use more than one McDonald’s.”  Boom, boom.

“I hope I’m as happy as that guy when I’m old.”  Boom.

“Bonus!  My gate is right next to Dairy Queen! When I’m done with my McGrease, I’ll have a Blizzard.”  Boom, boom, boom.

After all that stomping, and a cleansing calorie fest, I felt much more relaxed as I settled in my seat on the plane.  Good thing, because the kid behind me found two-hours of entertainment in click, click, clicking his seat belt latch, over and over and over again, for the entire flight. 

This seemed to annoy everyone except his mother, who, sitting next to him, was deeply absorbed in a Harlequin.            

Others on the plane kept turning around, shooting dirty looks at the boy’s mother, whispering remarks about her oblivious parenting under their breath. 

As for me, thanks to my heavy walk through the airport, I was centered and immune.  Dancing is great, but sometimes, you’ve just got to stomp it out. 

This article first appeared in the Lewistown News-Argus and the Sidney (Mont.) Herald on July 11, 2009.