Alright. I'm going to tell you something that I have never fully recovered from.
It was baggage claim. San Diego airport. About 25 years ago.
My mother and I had just landed and were standing at the carousel with the usual mix of anticipation and mild dread that accompanies any baggage claim situation.
And then the belt started moving.
And out came, slowly and with great theatrical flair… a parade.
Yellow underwear. Orange underwear. Magenta. Turquoise. Lavender.
One by one. Riding the belt. Visible to everyone in the entire terminal.
Making their full debut to the San Diego traveling public.
I stood there frozen, calculating how quickly I could relocate to another country.
And then, from directly beside me, my mother — God rest her soul — turned to the crowd and announced, with zero hesitation and maximum volume:
"SYDNEY! Those are yours!"
As if there was any question. As if anyone needed confirmation. As if pointing at the owner of the rainbow underwear parade was a helpful contribution to the situation.
I sacrificed the underwear. Left them on the belt. Let them continue their journey wherever belts go. Could not claim them. Would not claim them. Some things are not worth the dignity trade-off.
My mother thought this was the funniest thing that had ever happened in the history of human travel. She told that story at every holiday dinner for the rest of her life.
She passed away a few years ago. And now when I think about baggage claim — which I do every single time — I don't think about the underwear.
I think about her laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
The embarrassing story became the best story. The worst travel moment became one of the ones I hold closest.
That's the thing about travel. Even the disasters have a way of becoming gifts. 💛
