But how to get to Buffalo?
That was the question on my mind as I walked down East Avenue on Saturday afternoon. My boyfriend would be returning on Sunday from a whirlwind trip to San Francisco and I knew he would be tired after an obscenely early morning and long day of travel. I wanted badly to meet him at the airport and to ease the last leg: an hour long drive back to Rochester. The logistical challenge was that he already had a car at the airport, so my driving there would mean a quick hello in the airport before making the drive, separately, back home.
Until I remembered the train. When you grow up in a very rural place, as I did, public transportation is not something that comes quickly to mind when it’s time to go somewhere. I was proud that I even thought of it, and more delighted when I saw that I could get on the Amtrak for $20 and be in Buffalo forty-five minutes ahead of his plane. Easiest money I’ve ever spent.
After a shockingly beautiful ride through the cinnamon, gold, and cherry red trees of Western New York at peak foliage, I hopped a quick Uber to the airport and waited for my favorite magic moment: bringing unexpected joy into the life of someone I love.
I’ve always relished this kind of orchestration: throwing surprise parties for my family at every conceivable opportunity, driving to Michigan to surprise my best friend over a long weekend, booking a night at the Plaza for the last night of sister vacation. Great gift giving can be something like these bigger surprises. I absolutely wiggle with excitement before Christmas and birthdays, hoping and believing that my carefully chosen gift will surprise and delight the recipient.
I think my love of surprises has something to do with my love of good stories. Ever able to imagine what order of events would make the very best tale, I live in a world of wild optimism and possibility, striving all the time to mold reality into what it could, what it ought to be. The painful shadow of this orientation is that I am also, always, aware of the places where the story falls short of the ideal. This can lead to sometimes heartbreaking disappointment over unrealized possibilities that others never even saw.
When I called to tell my mom about my Sunday afternoon airport scheme, I started with “I’ve got a somewhat Ansley-ish plan for the afternoon” to which she replied “oh dear, are you going to Brazil and the zoo and throwing a birthday party for Dad?” This is an oft-repeated line in our family, carried over from a day during my toddler-hood where I woke up and proudly announced my intentions for the day. My mother, ever patient and exasperated with my big ambitions and tenuous grip on limits of time and space, kindly suggested that I pick one of those things (and not a trip to Brazil).
On another occasion, this time at Christmas, my parents stayed up all night assembling a bunk bed in my room. This was a dream of mine and I should have been very excited, except that when Christmas morning came and my parents said there was one more gift in my room, I chose to embrace the very best story I could think of and was convinced that there was a horse waiting in my bedroom. I’m not sure I narrated my visible disappointment until years later, probably because my parents taught me well how to be grateful and kind even when things don’t go as you hoped or planned.
Here I should pause to say that among the many gifts my parents gave me, I think it is their willingness to facilitate the grand gesture and the magical (if impractical) moments for which I am most grateful. In a world that tells us always to be logical, and prudent, and pragmatic, my parents made space for wonder, and surprise, and impractical generosity. As I talked to my mom about the plan for this afternoon, I could hear my dad say in the background “I think that’s a great idea!”
Sometimes I’m embarrassed by my schemes and gifts and surprises—afraid that they will overwhelm the recipients or be too misaligned with reality. But sometimes you stand in the arrivals section of the Buffalo International Airport and watch your boyfriend’s eyes light up when he sees that you are not at all where you are supposed to be, and also exactly where he wants you. Magic. Improbable, impractical, magic.
Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.
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Resonates. I too have that gene, Ansley!
“Ever able to imagine what order of events would make the very best tale, I live in a world of wild optimism and possibility, striving all the time to mold reality into what it could, what it ought to be.”
Please keep doing this. The world needs you!
One line jumped out at me, and Sophia saw it and already commented on it. My only additional thought was that it deserved to hang on your wall as a saying, but maybe only changing the tense, “Imagine what order of events make the very best tale. Live in a world of wild optimism and possibility, striving all the time to mold reality into what it could… what it ought to be.” What a challenge, what a hope, what a power!
Truly the best of qualities in the best of humans.
Ansley, your writings are a gift. Much like those you wrote about.
I have also love giving surprise gifts at various occasions. My favorites are the ones made by hand and full of love and care. Again, as you just wrote of.
Great story!