Stress is a cumbersome business.  We think we disguise it well, but it’s always creeping, crawling ever so slowly and closely to the surface, daring us to implode at the most inopportune time. 

Stress can be managed through a myriad of techniques:  deep breathing, meditation, medication, exercise, and yes, sometimes yelling to make us feel better.  Everyone handles it differently; our coping mechanisms vary based on personality type and the situation responsible for the stress.

In the end, no matter how hard we try, we really aren’t fooling anyway.  Stress is a daily factor in our lives and can often be our undoing.

For instance, this past week was, well, extremely stressful.  As a I prepared to fly out of town to meet Son Number One for his impending surgery, stress permeated my entire being, but I was attempting my best “I-have-all-together” act so as not to alarm anyone.  In retrospect, I should probably poll everyone I encountered leading up to my departure to see who I was able to fool.  Hmm…

The reality is, there is so much to prepare when leaving town, and it’s not simply checking the weather and packing your suitcase according to your destination and the duration of your trip.  It can be overwhelming.

Add to that an unexpected two-hour visit to the Apple store because your phone decides to glitch the day before you leave town for the week, and your put-together routine has a slow, snaking fissure in it.

In addition to the advanced preparation and the unexpected calamity, it is all the responsibilities left behind:  your people, your pets, your priorities.  Getting it all aligned before getting out of town takes planning with purpose, and this can be done with ease if you utilize much of the aforementioned deep breathing technique. In my house, I have a reputation for releasing an audible, frequent ‘sigh’ when I am in the middle of any and all stress-related tasks, and I am certain my audibles were frequent during this hectic week, especially as I left packing to the morning of the flight.

To reduce some tension in this situation, I decide to take an Uber to the airport; a few less things to worry about, traffic and parking.  I situate myself comfortably in the back seat of the Uber minivan only to have my phone ring before I leave the driveway.  Son Number Two has a simple conundrum which he wants to discuss.  Wait, didn’t we just go over all the basic requirements for being in charge while I’m gone?  Didn’t we just say good-bye?

I’m channeling Calm in my head, and I have to say, not driving is key.  My son and I attempt to resolve the issue, and as his sweet nature, he calls back a minute later to say thanks, he’s figured it out.

Next, I call my parents.  They have been pushed to the bottom of my list while I managed my nerves leading up to the trip, and I have been meaning to call them for days.  I say hello to my mother when she picks up the phone, tell her where I am, and inform her I’m finally on my way.  Her response?  “You sound stressed.”

For real???  She can’t even SEE me, but she can HEAR it in my voice.  At this point I’m hanging on by the proverbial thread and I need to get on that plane.

My next hurdle is airport security.  Once I am on the plane, I’m golden but getting through security unnerves me to no end.  Past unpleasant experiences tend to haunt me.

I dash to take my place in the TSA pre-check line.  There are only a handful of people in front of me and the line is moving quickly.  My bags are placed on the conveyor belt through security as I simultaneously enter my screening gate.

Stop right there, lady!  You are our randomly selected passenger and now get the grand prize of being subjected to the ultra-X-ray machine for all to see, like a criminal in our midst.

I chuckle through this demeaning procedure because it honestly happens to me frequently.  No kidding.  But as I am waiting politely beside the conveyor belt for my bags so as not to attract any more attention, I see my suitcase get flagged.

And just like that, I’m the pariah of the security line.

The security guard must have sensed my stress level rise, like an animal caught in a trap, because she was ever-so-gentle with my neatly and newly packed suitcase.  I could only stand by helplessly as I was instructed not to touch my belongings for fear there was a sharp object inside.  This kind woman admired my neat packing and apologized that she had to go to the bottom of the suitcase to retrieve the flagged item.

I was as intrigued as she was, the anticipation killing me to find the contraband I was trying to smuggle on to the plane.

Ironically, it was the one item that was paramount for this trip:  the gigantic ice wrap for my son’s knee post-ACL surgery.  I felt like a chump.  Remember when they announce, “no liquids,” repeatedly, while you are standing in the security line?  And remember what form ice takes when it’s not frozen?

Well, the airport security guard and I had some more chuckles over my miscue, and she even showed me what my unfrozen ice wrap looked like on the security camera.  That’s right. Water.

Only one more obstacle to overcome and I’ll be air born.  The last piece of my pre-flight stress is to make certain after all the security hubbub my bag makes it into the overhead bin, otherwise the calamity during security screening will have been for nothing.

With little fuss, there is an open slot a few spaces behind my seat, and a kindly gentleman assists with my now tarnished suitcase.

I am disappointed my stress-level was more transparent than I assumed, yet I am pleased I was able to handle the added pressure of the security-snafu with grace.  It’s interesting how our worry is revealed, through facial expressions, body language, sight and obviously sound, as my mother so keenly detected, and it is also interesting how human nature instinctively wants us to protect others from our own anxiety, to keep it hidden and tucked away.

While I politely decline to dump my anxiety-riddled vibe onto someone else, in the end we’ve fooled no one and possibly look foolish trying to be cool under pressure. Next time stress creeps back into my day, I might have to try a different technique:  admit I’m human.