My loyal blog readers:  I owe you, and perhaps myself, an apology.  Sometimes, we make goals and reach them…and other times we fall short.  As an elderly man once told my sister, as he helped her up from an unfortunate stumble on the streets of Galway “It’s alright, my dear. We all fall sometimes, running toward life.”  I’ve been running toward life the last ten days, and seven of those were spent at the North American Irish Dance Championships in New Orleans.  Those of you who have known me for any length of time know that – for me – Irish dance competitions are the equivalent of a black hole.  Calls go unanswered and texts go unread. If I responded to you in the last week, you caught me at the rare moment when I wasn’t sleeping, eating amazing food, doing hair or makeup, or watching dancing.  For those of you I never responded to – I apologize.  I don’t love you any less, and I’m back.  Let’s converse.

I must start my return to the blogging universe with the story I promised in my last blog – my plane ride from Louisville to Houston – before  I inelegantly sprinted through the Houston airport.  Truthfully, I had planned to work on my blog on the flight from Louisville to Houston, but I ended up spending those two hours talking to the man seated next to me.  As I was boarding the plane, he was right in front of me, and I noticed how friendly he was with the airport staff.  He was chatty and gracious, and I thought “now if I sat by him, I’d actually like to spend the flight talking to the stranger next to me.”  Wouldn’t you know, he took the window seat in row fourteen, and I realized mine was right next to him – seat 14B.  As I slipped in and buckled my belt, he turned to me, flashed a big smile, and said: “now that was convenient!”  

Before I go any further, let me explain that I used to be a nervous flier.  Like, a very nervous flier. I would silently recite Psalm 69 in my head (in Latin) roughly one hundred times during a single flight.  If you’re wondering what exactly Psalm 69 is, you can read the full text here.  And if you’re a Latin scholar or fan of Gregorian chant, you’re welcome.  Interestingly, my anxiety manifests in such a way that I can go from being totally paralyzed by something to not giving it a second thought. Really. I think my sheer terror over airline travel abated when I read an article about the relative danger of flying.  I learned that I was more likely to get hit by lighting, drown, die in a household accident, or contract a fatal foodborne illness than I was to go down in a plane.  I simply stopped worrying about the possibility of falling out of the sky in a ball of fire, and I stopped gripping my armrests in unadulterated panic every time a plane took off, landed, or hit a patch of rough air.  This is a good thing, because the flight from Louisville to Houston was a wee bit bumpy.  I barely noticed the bumps as I talked to the rugged blue-eyed man who happened to sit in seat 14A.

As soon as our ears recovered from the requisite popping and the roar of the engines waned, Sean and I started talking.  We talked the whole flight, and I learned that he’s an Austin native, and other than a brief stint in Boston, he’s lived there his whole life.  He works for a company that organizes and runs youth sports competitions, specifically girl’s volleyball competitions, and he was headed home after three weeks on the road which took him from Northern California to Vegas to Louisville.  He was planning a few days at home before heading on a beach vacation with friends. 

It’s amazing the things you can learn about a person in two hours when there are no strings attached, and I had a great time chatting with Sean.  He was a gifted conversationalist, and we laughed and joked easily.  We talked about all the usual things you talk about on airplanes – weather, and travel, and what we do for a living.  We talked briefly about our families, swapped funny Uber stories, and even shared our life paths and goals. At some point I referenced my love for Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” and he told me he would have it in his head for the rest of the day.  I not so secretly hope that the next time he hears it, he thinks of me.

When you consider the reality of talking to a stranger on a plane, it’s actually a bizarre situation.  You get randomly placed next to a person, have to sit six inches from them facing straight ahead for and hour or longer, and then you go your separate ways.  You may never exchange a word, or like Sean and myself, you might talk for two straight hours without a single awkward moment.  If it had been a date, it would have been a good one.

Our plane landed and taxied to the gate.  We laughed about the eccentric woman dressed entirely in red seated several rows ahead of us.  Both of us had noticed her in the Louisville airport, practicing her ballet moves as she waited to board.  Sean had watched her hit on the young man who was just two rows in front of us, and I joked, “I bet you’re glad you didn’t have to sit next to her.” We disembarked, and I had that weird feeling you have when you’ve just met someone – should I walk slowly and let him catch up? Turn around and see if he’s behind me? I did just that and continued talking to him as we made our way off the plane and down the jetway.  He was catching a plane to Austin, and as we stopped to check the departure screen (which I read incorrectly), he turned to shake my hand.  I wondered fleetingly if I should somehow try to further connect with him. I don’t know if I’d say I chickened out, or if I just followed my gut, but as I locked eyes with him, I knew with certainty that we would just have those two hours on a plane.  I told him it was wonderful meeting him, and he said he was so excited for me that I would get to experience New Orleans.  I watched as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the bowels of the Houston airport that an hour later I would find myself running through.  

Parting with Sean was one of those moments when I realized that all human interaction is not created equally, and sometimes we meet people we are meant to connect with – if even for the shortest amount of time.  I hope that as you read this, Sean is on a beach, relaxing as he gears up for another week on the road, sipping a beer and humming Whitney Houston. 

 

Until next time….