My alarm went off at 3 a.m., waking me out of a dream where I was captaining an old schooner and had just gone over the edge of a fearsome waterfall. My pulse was racing so fast, my hand shook as I tried to mute the alarm, nearly knocking over the glass of water on the nightstand.

I sit up, and the adrenaline starts to ease. Dreams are so weird. I drink my glass of water in the dark, not ready to turn on the lights yet and start the day. I’d barely set the empty glass down when my husband comes in, already dressed, packed and ready to head to the airport. He’s always been a seize-the-day morning person, while I’d rather carpe diem after the sun comes up.

Taking a quick look around the kitchen, I fill a water bottle and grab another empty one before we head out into the brisk, chilly night air.

We drove in amicable, sleepy silence to the airport. Interrupting every once in a while to remind each other of things that needed done this week: fields to be baled, hay to be hauled, produce to be picked. Rain is forecast and frost inches its way closer every day. There’s a lot to be done while my husband is gone, and while some days I amaze myself, other days I put my car keys in the fridge. And today already feels like a refrigerator day.

We pulled up to the drop-off section and were quickly enveloped in the weird time zone that all airports have in common, hurry up or wait. We’ve all been there. Airport time will slowly crawl by — until suddenly it flies at lightning speed. There’s no in-between. You’re either watching the paint dry or out of breath trying to make the last boarding call.

The drop-off zone was no different. You drive up in regular time, but as soon as the doors open, you’re sucked into airport time, where before you even realize you’ve said goodbye, you’re already driving away — forgetting to send the empty water bottle in the cup-holder.

I pushed the power button on the radio. It was set to a business talk program, but I really wasn’t listening. I was instead grumbling to myself that if this week was a pair of shoes, it’d be Crocs for sure. That comparison made me smile.

I started thinking about “miserable Monday” quips. If every day is a gift, I’d like to know where to exchange this week for one in the Caribbean. I entertained myself most of the way home with my inner grumpiness, then just as I pulled back into the driveway, an analogy about maximizing our strengths and minimizing our weaknesses caught my attention, and I turned up the volume.

The eagle and the snake: Both are equally formidable and strong predators in their respective realms. On the ground, the snake is powerful, wise and deadly, but in the air it loses its stamina, power and balance. It becomes helpless, weak and vulnerable. In a fight between the two, the eagle chooses not to fight the snake on the ground. It will change the battleground by picking the snake up into the air and then release it.

My husband called about then to say he’d forgotten his water bottle and had to purchase one in the airport. He was stunned at the price — six dollars for a 16-ounce generic brand of water, the same water he could buy for not much more than the deposit at the local grocery store. He was still grumbling, but I’d stopped actively listening, thinking instead about the eagle, the water and the benefit of changing locations.

The snake’s venom didn’t become less potent, nor the water more hydrating. So how can a bottle of water be 50 cents at the market, $2 at the gym, $4 at the movies and $6 on a plane? The only thing that changed the value was was the location.

So if you’re having a day that makes you feel as valuable as the “g” in lasagna, think about that bottle of water and the eagle — maybe it’s time to fly to your $6 location.