Last week, I was on a flight where chaos led to an “I wish I would have known” moment. There was a group of 55 non-English speaking passengers with a tight connection. Just as we were landing, the flight attendant asked everyone who didn’t have a tight connection to stay seated so this group could get off quickly. As soon as the plane stopped, the group sprung out of their seats, frantically pulling down their luggage from overhead and gathering all their belongings.
But there was a problem. Yes, we had landed, but we were still on an active runway, waiting to make our way to the gate. You know, the time when the seatbelts signs are still on and you must stay seated?
The flight attendants started making announcements for everyone to sit down.
The group continued pulling their bags down and bustling around.
One flight attendant got firmer with her message for the group of 55 to sit down, saying that even the flight attendants had to stay buckled.
The group continued… talking, grabbing, moving. The message was being sent by the flight attendants over the intercom, but it wasn’t received by the group because of the language barrier.
One flight attendant walked up and started heaving people’s bags back into the overhead bin with some intensity and telling people to sit down. But the group was so large that very few people noticed. It was chaos.
Another attendant got on the mic and said the pilot would not move the plane until every bag was stowed and every passenger was seated. After what seemed like forever, with so many attempts made by the flight attendants to calm the chaos, all were seated and the plane taxied to our gate.
I watched all this with compassion because I’ve been a traveler in places where I don’t speak the language and I’ve been oblivious to the cues I’ve missed. But I felt bad for the group because through all of their frenetic activity, they had actually slowed themselves and the rest of the passengers down by a solid 10-15 minutes.
As I walked through the airport, it hit me: This frantic rush to move forward, only to end up going slower perfectly mirrors something I’ve learned about parenting.
Parenting often feels like an endless rush of activity – homework, activities, meals, bedtime routines. We’re all working toward the same goal: raising children who feel loved, seen, and secure. But just like those rushed passengers, sometimes our frantic pace works against us.
What I’ve learned is that stillness can be more powerful than motion. Here’s what I mean:
- Being available to just listen when your child comes home from school. I practiced this when 16 year-old Palmer didn’t like me much. On the rare days he felt like talking, I was there.
- Knocking on those closed bedroom doors and seeing if our kids are open to us just hanging out… calmly, without commentary or teaching.
- Learning to quiet our constant urge to instruct and guide, making space instead for simple presence and listening.
The parenting years that seem like forever through the windshield look short when they’re in the rearview mirror. Those precious, quiet moments where I was just present are the ones I wish I could go back and create more of. That’s what I wish I had known.
Yes, our many actions are a valuable part of parenting – just as those passengers needed to get their bags and deplane quickly. But just as they needed to pause before they could move forward, we parents might find that our stillness creates the forward momentum we’re seeking in our relationships with our children. Those soulful connections that emerge in quiet moments – that’s the rich, juicy stuff that really creates memories and gives our kids the sense of feeling loved, seen, and known.
With no judgment of the hustle of parenting, I invite you to give credit for how valuable your loving, still presence can be in the life of your child.
