When Life Hands You Laughter (even at 3 a.m. in an airport)

On Laughter, Liminal Spaces, and Letting Go (Literally)

🌙 Welcome. I’m Sarah, creator of Goddess in Training, where personal storytelling meets spiritual practice. I write about intuition, inner transformation, and the unseen threads that guide our lives—through essays, audio reflections, and conversations with seekers, mystics, and everyday visionaries. You’ll find explorations of plant medicine, goddess archetypes, synchronicity, and the messy magic of being human. This is a space for deep feelers, threshold crossers, and anyone who suspects there's more going on than meets the eye.

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Looking back at my essays here on Goddess in Training, I’ve noticed a trend: things can get heavy. We talk about transformation, trauma, intuition, plant medicine, death, rebirth, and all the messy magic in between. And I stand by it. My intention has always been to share raw, unfiltered reflections from my own life. I’ve been through some sh*t that cracked me open—and those cracks have let the light in, for real.

But today, I want to offer something lighter. Something that might bring a smile to your face or even a full-on belly laugh.

Because beyond all the mystical downloads and shadow work, what I really want for you—my readers, my fellow travelers—is a life full of joy, health, connection, and kindness. I want you to feel free. To dance like no one’s watching... but also to be totally fine if someone is. Maybe they’re laughing with you, maybe at you, but either way—you're still dancing.

I’ve always been someone who doesn’t give too much weight to what other people think of me. Even as a kid, growing up in a house that was bursting at the seams with babies and animals (it must have looked like chaos to outsiders), I welcomed friends into that world with open arms and zero self-consciousness. To quote my best friend, “It is what it is.”

And in that spirit, I offer you this very human moment from last week:

I was on my way back to the jungle to continue work on my resort project. The drive to the airport took four hours, and somewhere along the way, I got a notification: my flight would be delayed by three hours.

Cue the mental recalibration. I’d already built in extra time, so this meant I’d be camping out in the airport for the foreseeable future. By the time I got through security, it was the dead of night. I found a quiet corner and curled up in my oversized sweatshirt, near another traveler who was already snoring contentedly.

Sleep came in fits and starts. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d shift positions, trying to get comfortable. At one point, I managed to fall into a surprisingly deep sleep, knees pulled to my chest, my back against a cool window.

And that’s when it happened.

I was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of a loud fart—my own. There was no denying it. No blaming the snoring guy nearby. It was me. I knew it was me. And I knew the group of three women who had settled into the seats near me during my slumber knew it too—because they immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter.

I didn’t move. I didn’t open my eyes. I just stayed curled in my faux-sleep state, silently listening to them laugh for a solid fifteen minutes straight. At one point, they began arguing (through giggles) about whether they ever fart in their sleep. One claimed she definitely didn’t, another swore she absolutely did.

And in that absurd, slightly embarrassing, totally human moment—I felt joy. Real joy. Not just because I didn’t let shame win, but because the waiting room of life—the fluorescent-lit, carpet-stained, liminal non-space of airport purgatory—had been punctured by laughter. Mine, theirs, ours.

I hope those women tell that story for years. I hope it becomes part of their vacation lore. “Remember when that woman farted in her sleep at the airport and we couldn’t stop laughing?” I hope it delights them for decades.

Because honestly? It delights me. I told my daughter the story when I got home, and we both laughed until we cried.

So yes, I’ll keep writing about intuition and healing and the deep stuff that transforms us. But I’ll also keep reminding you—and myself—that levity is sacred, too.

Here’s to making peace with your most human moments.
Here’s to letting joy in—even when it slips out unexpectedly. 💨

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And in the spirit of finding the sacred in the silly, I’d like to invoke Baubo—the bawdy goddess of belly laughs and body humor. According to Greek myth, it was Baubo who made the grieving Demeter laugh again by lifting her skirts and cracking an inappropriate joke (or possibly letting one rip—we’ll never know). She reminds us that joy lives in the body, that laughter is holy, and that sometimes the medicine we need is found not in silence or stillness, but in a perfectly timed, mortifying sound that breaks the tension.

May Baubo bless your most human moments. May she remind you that your body is wise, your laughter is healing, and nothing—not even a middle-of-the-night airport fart—is outside the realm of the sacred.

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