Lately, I’ve relied on prompts to create posts for the Big Blue Mess. I’ve used them to kind of kickstart (shake vigorously) the old memories in the hopes I can spin them into shareable (maybe relatable?) stories. Nothing has really grabbed me. Most of them strike me like those fun/fluffy “get to know you” interview questions we dread (or maybe I’m projecting — I definitely dread them). You know, the ones you try to answer to help convey you might be interesting and a great cultural fit, and will hopefully make up for any shortcomings you may have exposed previously.

They usually start with something like, “Tell us about a time when you…” “If you were…?” “What’s your favorite…?” and end with something absurd where you suspect the person asking may be having a go at you. These are the questions that cause the rational side of your brain to go into panic mode and try to jettison as quickly as possible any response that might show you’re more suited for a career as a tarot reader for ordinary garden plants.

But the other day, I found myself sharing one of my core stories only to discover I’ve never actually shared it here, which is weird. A lot of me is captured in the anecdotes I’ve shared here over the past 20 years.

So, here’s the story —

Kevin Hearne is my favorite author of all time.

Before we get there, you need a bit of backstory. A lot of you already know this, but a refresher will help everything line up.

When I learned Jay died, my flight from LA had just landed when I was summoned to a white courtesy phone. There, I was told to wait for a police officer, who then took me to an interrogation office within the airport.

When I asked what was going on, she only shared that an officer from my small town was on her way to talk to me.

I spent a good half hour waiting in a room with two-way mirrors, without context other than the officer being very kind to me.

And then I learned Jay had passed.

That one event changed how I move through our local airport.

Airports were no longer gateways to adventure but reminders that stories can come to an abrupt end.

And it was always the return flights that got me. My anxiety attacks would begin a couple of hours before I exited the plane and would continue as I walked through the concourse, straining to hear my name over the hum of people rushing to their next gates.

That anxiety stuck close as I walked past that same white phone, wondering how many other lives had stopped right there.

And then into the baggage area, as I glanced toward the hallway that led to the police office.

I couldn’t breathe.

And the ritual repeated itself every time I came back home without reprieve.

I’d exit the plane, get triggered, and try to remain ok on the outside until I could get away from the airport.

Then, a chance to attend a conference in LA came up. It was my first time back since Jay passed, and I knew additional triggers would get added.

I dreaded that return flight and what my brain had in store.

At that same time, I’d finished reading Kevin Hearne’s Iron Druid Chronicles and had started listening to The Purloined Poodle – a fun side adventure featuring the Iron Druid himself, Atticus O’Sullivan, and his faithful, goofy, and bath/story-loving companion Oberon as read by Luke Daniels. In fact, I’d popped in my earbuds mid–return flight, giggling quietly as Oberon worked to solve the case. (There was probably a lot of talk about squirrels (always highly suspicious) and sausages (always welcome).)

I got lost in the story.

And then I was standing at my car.

I didn’t remember the concourse. I didn’t see the white courtesy phone. I didn’t really recall collecting my luggage.

I just suddenly was out of the airport, and I was ok.

Weeks later, I decided to share that story with the author. I just wanted to say, “Hey, your book helped me through something tough, and I appreciate you.” My thought was it would go to his publicist and land in an e-waste bin, but at least I shared what I wanted to share – a heartfelt, probably poorly written, thank you.

…and Kevin Hearne wrote back.

His note was kind and human, and where I’d always enjoyed his writing before, that day, he became my favorite author.

If you haven’t read the series, there’s a line Atticus says quite frequently that has always resonated with me: “May harmony find you.”

Somehow, in the middle of grief triggered by concourses, white courtesy phones, and dark hallways leading to nearly hidden unmarked offices, harmony found me – all thanks to a talking dog on a silly adventure with his friends who unintentionally helped my brain remember how to be ok in our local airport again.

May harmony find you, too.

“Peace & tacos” 😉