The Balloon Fiesta, 3:30 A.M., and a Little Reminder to Cheer Loud
I attended the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta for the first time in 2023, and afterward I wrote a little journal entry about the experience.
I’m sharing it again this year because, honestly, I still think about it.
The morning I questioned all my life choices
My 3:30 a.m. alarm went off.
I promptly turned it off.
Obviously.
When the persistent buzzing began again at 3:45 a.m., I begrudgingly silenced it and stumbled out of bed, wondering if I had completely lost my mind.
“Is this REALLY worth getting up for? I’m already so tired.”
But photographers will do anything for a photo, right?
Even wake up at an hour when only bakers, nurses and newborns are awake.
So I got dressed, grabbed my camera, and headed out.
A little later than planned, because apparently getting out of bed at 3:45 a.m. does not automatically make you an organized person.
And then I sat in traffic.
For an hour.
At 4:00 in the morning.
Yes. Really.
There are some things you simply cannot prepare yourself for. Finally, after bleary-eyed parking and walking onto the field, I was there!
Thousands upon thousands of people made their way to the first day of the 50th Anniversary of the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta.
We were all waiting for the same thing.
The heavens to fill with color.
When it happened.
The balloons began to inflate.
One by one, a small group lifted into the pre-dawn sky.
And suddenly, I stopped thinking about how tired I was.
This is magical. There are not words to describe the majestic views of in the pitch black of night, seeing the Dawn Patrol light up the sky.
Then, the whole place seemed to come alive.
There were balloon crews working together, people running to help, strangers lending a hand, and crowds cheering every single balloon as it made its way upward.
They cheered every time.
It didn't matter how many balloons had already gone up.
It didn't matter that the novelty "should have" worn off.
Every balloon that lifted into the sky was met with excitement.
Teams worked.
Balloons inflated.
Crowds cheered.
Repeat.
And repeat.
It never got old.
By 8:30 a.m., I was completely exhausted and started making my way home.
Of course, the traffic was still bumper-to-bumper, so I had plenty of time to think.
And somewhere between the Balloon Fiesta and the world's longest drive home, I started thinking about how much those balloons—and the people helping them fly—had to teach me.
Maybe we're all carrying something.
Every day, we encounter people who are carrying things we cannot see.
Worry.
Grief.
Trauma.
Fear.
Heartache.
Exhaustion.
Uncertainty.
Things they may never tell us about. It's heavy right, like a hot air balloon basket stuck on the ground.
I began thinking about a quote I have heard,
What if we assumed that everyone we meet is carrying something difficult? Most of the time, I think we'd be right.
And what if, instead of standing on the sidelines, we tried to be a little more like the balloon crews helping the ballooners lift off.
The people who get right into the thick of it.
The people who help steady the basket.
The people who run alongside the balloon.
The people who feel the heat from the flames.
The people who don't necessarily make the balloon fly—but help give it the courage and support it needs to rise.
Sometimes someone we love doesn't need us to fix anything.
They just need someone willing to stand beside them while they figure out how to take flight again.
And sometimes, we get to be the crew.
But sometimes we are the balloon.
Sometimes we're the ones who are struggling to get off the ground.
Sometimes we're carrying more weight than we can manage.
Sometimes we need someone else to steady our basket.
And that's okay, too.
Because the beautiful thing about the Balloon Fiesta is that no one balloon gets itself into the sky completely on its own.
There are people helping.
There are people watching.
There are people cheering.
And when that balloon finally rises, everyone celebrates. Let's do that.
Let's cheer a little louder.
If we can't be the crew for someone who is struggling to take flight, maybe we can at least be part of the crowd.
Maybe we can cheer.
Really, really loudly.
We can celebrate the person who finally got out of bed.
The friend who made the hard phone call.
The mom who made it through another exhausting day.
The person who survived something they never thought they would.
The teenager who tried again.
The friend who finally asked for help.
The person who took one tiny step forward after feeling stuck for a very long time.
We don't have to know the whole story to cheer someone on.
And just like at the Balloon Fiesta, we don't have to save the balloon to celebrate that it is flying.
So here's the reminder I'm carrying with me into another Balloon Fiesta:
Be someone's crew when you can.
Accept help from your own crew when you need it.
And when someone finally rises after a difficult season?
CHEER.
Cheer for the little victories.
Cheer for the big ones.
Cheer when someone finds their way back to themselves.
Cheer when they try again.
Cheer when they rise.
Because maybe when we help each other rise, the heavens come just a little closer to us.
