It’s My First Time Flying Alone

To understand this beautiful encounter, there is one thing you must know about me. I am competitive—fiercely competitive, but only in the ways it does not matter. I will study tirelessly to get a high score in a pass/fail class. Back when Black Friday shopping was an in-person, wee hours event, I would stand in line outside a store in 29-degree temperatures at 3:00 a.m. to get a product that nobody else wanted at an $11 discount. And, when preparing for flights, I typically set an alarm for three minutes before the 24-hour check-in time to make sure I am geared and ready the first moment check-in is available so that I can have a preferred line spa on the open seating flight.

That’s why it is so noteworthy that this past weekend I was so present in the moment, so relaxed into what was happening around me, that I not only missed the 7:05 a.m. check-in time, but in fact did not check myself in for my flight until a full 14 hours later. It did not even occur to me, which is a beautiful thing about being fully present in the moment.

And that, dear friends, is how I ended up with boarding position C-19 on my flight this morning—a position almost guaranteed a middle seat and with strong likelihood of not having an overhead bin space.

I boarded the plane still living in the Zen of the moment, blissfully caffeinated, and open to whatever was ahead. I greeted Frank, the flight steward, and made small talk while I waited for the line to progress and me to find whatever seat was available for late checker-inners.

Much to my delightful surprise, on BOTH sides of the aisle, rows one and two each had middle seat available, and (clouds part, sun shines through, angels sing) there was even overhead space for my suitcase. What kind of divine provision, intervention, delight is this?!? Not missing a beat or questioning the moment, I put my TSA-approved wheeled carry-on suitcase in the very.first.bin to my right, assisted by the aforementioned lovely Southwest steward Frank.

In the first row to my right was a man with a broken arm, sling hanging into the middle seat to his left. Nope—looks like he needs the space. That seat’s not for me.

In the first row to my left was a seat, but the people looked very intent on not having a seatmate, so reading the room I moved on.

In the second row on the left, seats 2 D, E, and F, the middle seat between two senior adult women was available. Decked in bright pink (aisle lady) and a pale purple (window lady), they looked friendly, approachable, and less likely to tell me to take a hike. I asked if I could join them in the row.

“Thank you for welcoming me,” I said. “I know people don’t often like to give up the middle seat.”

Bright Pink Aisle Lady smiled, said she didn’t mind sitting in the middle and is always willing to if needed, and welcomed me to the girls-only row aboard our early-morning flight.

We sat politely and socially acceptably quiet for a few moments, then Frank took the microphone. With humor, grace, personality, and authority he gave us the rules for flight, our bags, the bathroom (do not congregate near the front, look for the red X, lock the door because if you don’t and someone opens it and sees you buck naked, it’s your own fault—it happened twice yesterday). Breaking the ice, we commented what a great flight leader Frank was, and conversation ensued.

Bright Pink Aisle Lady, in her late 70s, was going home from watching her grandson graduate college. She told me of him riding his bike from Mexico to Canada along the continental divide. She shared about adoption in their family, her children, where in the country everyone lives, and her travels. We bonded as women, moms, humans, and my soon-to-be-graduation to grandma status.

Engaging in the conversation, Pale Purple Window Lady, edging closer to her 90s, shared how she is on her way to celebrate her eighth great grandchild at her granddaughter’s baby shower this week in Denver.

She shared about her daughters, grandchildren, great grandchildren, growing up in Colorado then the big shift it was when her military husband was stationed in South Texas. She told tales of building their home in 2000, living in it the last 24 years, and how property values have changed in that time. She told me she would be the last off the plane because there would be a wheelchair to get her, shared how much she enjoyed the in-flight graham crackers (could she buy them in a store?), and wondered what baggage claim would hold her luggage once her daughter arrived to pick her up. Frank brought her coffee with sweetener, which she watched wiggle and jiggle during turbulence, not wanting to pick it up lest she spill it while trying to take a jostled drink.

The three of us bonded. Without names we established a lovely connection, present in the moment as humans, travelers, and the sisterhood of Row 2. I marveled at their strength, independence, beauty, and hoped I would be a wife, mom, grandma, and great grandma one day just like them.

As our flight landed and taxied to the gate, I thanked the ladies for allowing me to join them in the middle row, right in the middle of common humanity, connection, and grace. “It was an enjoyable flight,” said Bright Pink Aisle Lady. “It was nice talking with you.”

Leaning over, stretching to reach her purse from the floor, Pale Purple Window Lady said, “I’ll be the last off. They’re getting a wheelchair for me.” And then, “Thank you for sitting with me. You ladies made this flight really nice. I’ve never done this before—this is my first time flying alone,” she said. “My husband died January 6.”

I sat with her in that moment, marveling at her beauty, strength, the weight of that transition in life, and the fact that in God’s grace, he allowed me to share with her in the very first time she’s ever flown alone in her 90ish years.

“I’m glad I got to share it with you,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He was a good man,” she told me. And there we sat, in Row 2, seats D, E, and F—the sisterhood of an early morning flight and major life moments.

The Zen of being present. The grateful thanks for forgetting to check-in until 14 hours late, and how that allowed me to get a late boarding position and get a middle seat. The joy of sitting next to strangers, connecting in meaningful ways, and not doing life alone.