I acted like a child, and it makes me squirm just thinking about it.
You’ve had moments like that.
A moment when you look back, you just roll your eyes, and wish to never think of it again. You can’t believe how you acted, and felt, and thought at that moment.
You’re not proud.
But let’s revisit it right now, if ever so briefly.
Think about it. Think about it in excruciating details, and go ahead and roll your eyes at yourself.
When was it? Where was it? Who was involved? What was the situation? Was there anybody else around to see and hear you?
What did you say? How did you act? What specifically embarrassed you?
And…
How did you feel? What were you thinking? What was the story you were playing in your head?
I recently had a moment like this, but it was also a moment that let me know that I have indeed grown quite a bit.
Although I’m not necessarily proud of myself (I’m still rolling my eyes), with a few days of separation, I am thankful that it provided a signpost on the journey of growth.
The Itinerary
I was traveling home to the eastern US from Armenia. The itinerary called for 3 hours from Armenia to Qatar, a 3 hour layover in Doha, and then 14 straight hours to Philly.
All in coach.
Although I’d never done this particular trip, I have done many similar trips that were 13-16 hours on one leg of the journey.
Always in coach.
If you’ve ever spent 14 hours in coach, you know that your personal seating arrangement on that long flight can make all of the difference between tolerable and miserable.
You have your own preference — window, aisle, or middle. The correct one for you makes all the difference. And an empty seat next to you? At that moment, having an empty seat next to you is the mental equivalent of hitting the $300M lottery.
I’m twitchy, and I’m an aisle person.
I prefer the alleged freedom and the perceived space that an aisle provides. Just the fact that I can get up whenever, or put my leg out in the aisle, if even for just a few seconds, is like a calming balm applied to my twitchy mind.
When booking this particular trip, I was unable to choose a seat for the first leg, but was able to choose the perfect seat for the 14-hour leg: seat 23D.
The Qatar Airways A350 for this flight was configured as 3-3-3 with 44 rows. So 23D is on the inner aisle approximately halfway back. This was also likely to give me Zone 2 boarding. I love Zone 2 because there will be open overhead bins, but I won’t have to sit on the plane for 45 minutes before we start taxiing.
Perfect as can be expected for 14-hours in coach.
The First Leg
The journey started rough in Armenia. The flight was 3am local time. I had started that day at 8am, worked all day, and then had a relaxing few hours before it was time to embark on the journey home.
But no sleep.
We arrived in a brain fog at the airport to crowds, slow lines, and odd rules. I was assigned a window seat. Not ideal, but also not a disaster for a short 3-hour hop.
Once on the plane and nestled into my window seat, a young couple took their seats next to me. The friendly and talkative man and I exchanged some pleasant conversation as the rest of the passengers boarded.
Then, as soon as the wheels were up, somehow and inexplicably, my formerly talkative neighbor falls sound asleep.
How does anybody actually fall sound asleep in coach…in the middle?? Ah…I guess it helps if you just pour yourself into half of your neighbor’s seat.
The next 3 hours was an exercise in physical and mental tension. Trying to keep myself out of his way and smashed against the fuselage.
It’s uncomfortably warm, I’m exhausted, I have no place for my feet, I’m trying not to touch the guy next to me, my back hurts, and I’m hungry.
The proverbial two little-me’s are sitting on each shoulder.
The first me leaned into those couple of paragraphs above. He looks a lot like a tiny, pre-Miyagi Daniel LaRusso (from hereon referred to as DL-M). He’s whining in my ear that its not fair, that I shouldn’t have to deal with this, and that I deserve better. DL-M is owed something.
The other me looks like David Goggins, and he’s disgusted with myself. He’s whisper-yelling in my ear to man-up. That I still have more than 60% left in me. That this minimal amount of discomfort shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar. In fact, all tiny David Goggins-me (from hereon referred to as DG-M) can do is simply shake his head in utter disappointment.
The Layover
The people…everywhere.
I’m as introverted as they come. I enjoy less people so much more than more people. And when I’m agitated, I prefer even less people.
DL-M is winding up: For goodness sake, it’s 4:30am? Why are there so many people in this airport at 4:30am? Where could you possibly have to go at this hour?
We waited in yet another line, found the lounge, and upon entry, sat down with some sparkling water and snacks to kill the next couple of hours.
At least I have the good seat for the next leg. DL-M should shut up now.
DG-M won’t even make eye contact with me. Snacks and sparkling water…WTF is wrong with you? I think I caught a glimpse of him walking right off my shoulder and out the door.
DL-M Takes Control
An hour before boarding, in full zombie mode, I waded through the masses and found my way to the gate.
After a quick and easy gate-entry security check, I found myself handing my boarding pass to the gate agent for what I assumed was simply verification of my identity and acknowledgement that the passenger in seat 23D was at the gate.
That’s when the lug nuts spun off the wheels.
Through the haze, I heard the agent mutter something about a seat reassignment. Quickly, my boarding pass was confiscated, and a new one with obscene markings was handed to me. At first these obscene markings didn’t even register, but then I focused my eyes and understood — seat 37E.
Suddenly, the fog lifted and I was acutely aware of my surroundings.
WHAT??!!! 37E??!!!
I didn’t know exactly where 37E was, but I knew it was a) near the back of the plane, and b) in the freakin middle seat of the middle aisle.
And that’s when the wheels fell off.
With little control of myself, DL-M leapt off my shoulder, into my head, and grabbed the joystick.
The Ugh Moment
DL-M was not going to stand for this and he let the agent know. It was like an out-of-body experience.
At one point, the agent asked me to please step aside so that the manager on duty could continue the conversation without holding up the process.
I simply refused, like a child.
“I’m staying right here, blocking this line, until this is fixed!”
Historically, and with my wits about me, this is not the way I act, especially in a public setting. I rarely feel the need to complain. I’m typically able to hold DL-M at bay, and DG-M is usually satisfied with my approach.
But not this time. I literally couldn’t stop myself. I had no control, and DL-M was in full control. I wouldn’t be surprised if I stomped my foot at some point. Maybe there is video somewhere.
But in the end, there was no satisfaction for DL-M. At one point, I left the gate agent, stewed on it some more, and went back to pick up the fight.
No dice. I was flying home in seat 37E.
The Growth Moment
It didn’t come from listening to DG-M screaming at me to man-up. DG-M was nowhere to be found. Likely he was outside running laps or doing pull-ups.
It also didn’t come from “looking at the bright side.”
Or from trying to talk myself into “making lemonade from lemons.”
Or from “smiling on the outside so that my inside will believe it.”
Or from “breathing deeply.”
All bullshit.
Any of those things would have been a farce — surface-level and inauthentic.
The growth moment was simply an awareness. A mindful awareness of my presence in that time and space, and a gratefulness for being.
Yup, the old me also thinks that sounds nuts.
An actual calm came over me, if just for a few seconds. But it was a light bulb, and it was energizing.
And that light bulb was just the signpost on the journey of growth that I needed.
The Final Leg
I’d be lying if I said that now “all was well” from then on.
The flight was delayed before we got on the plane, and then again once we were seated on the plane. An incident between an angry man and a young woman at the gate that threatened to delay us even further.
DL-M was raring to go at those moments.
But that brief encounter with awareness and gratitude had signaled something that helped keep me calm.
Now, I could authentically “look at the bright side.” I knew that I was going to be OK.
The next 14 hours were as pleasant as can be in coach.
The Work That Has Been Done
I’m neither a master of meditation and mindfulness, nor prayer. I can’t teach anybody. But I’ve been practicing.
It’s moments like the one described above that has me sure that the practice is paying dividends. I’ve had a handful of those moments.
In them, I’ve been able to observe my mood, my feelings, and my actions with a “that’s interesting” kind of response. Most importantly, I’m starting to be able to forgive myself, and even allow those moments to come.
It’s OK to feel melancholy. It’s OK to feel angry. It’s OK to feel perturbed.
But it’s not OK to act on those feelings like a child would.
From Hereon
This was just a simple signpost on the journey of growth. There was no magical epiphany, nor lightning bolt, nor exclamation of a life altering moment.
But these little signposts are important. They are important motivators as well as indicators.
I’m no guru, nor sage, nor monk, and that isn’t my goal. I’m also not as consistent with the practices as I should be.
I am, however, motivated to continue.
Mostly I’m just looking to continue the growth.
