Doing the Shilly-Shally at 30,000 feet

I was on a plane coming home from a business trip. I dozed off and started doing that thing where your head falls forward, the motion of which wakes you up slightly, so you sit up and the next thing you know you’re doing it again. I call it the “Shilly-Shally”.

For those of you who find yourself dancing the Shilly-Shally at 30,000 feet, you know that after repeating the dance a few times, you sometimes fall forward particularly hard and wake yourself up completely, often to concerned looks from other passengers. This had just happened to me when an elderly woman, who was sitting in the aisle seat across from mine, touched my arm. When I looked at her, I knew she was enlightened. I can usually tell when I meet enlightened people; their heads are surrounded in a golden/bluefish hue and their skin looks almost unnaturally healthy. They always appear calm and seem as though they are moving a millisecond slower than the rest of the world.

“I am worried you might hurt your neck.” She handed me a neck pillow. “Would you like to use this? We have an extra one”.

I thanked her, declined her offer and introduced myself. I felt light headed (in a buzzed Pinot-Grigio sort of way). She told me her name was Faye. Her tone was kind and her smile could melt a glacier. It seemed as though she were looking right through me. For a brief moment I wondered if the coffee, sitting half empty on my tray table, had been spiked.

“My mother is legally blind,” said Faye’s daughter from the window seat.

Faye smiled at me again. “If you change your mind about the pillow, just let me know.” I thanked her again and engaged her in airplane small-talk. As we spoke, a growing sense of familiarity overtook me. I found it difficult to maintain my side of the conversation.

It was strange; I had never met Faye or her daughter before. Faye’s voice became more and more faint as the plane started to come to life before my eyes. It was like going from regular TV to HD. The vibrant colors actually hurt my eyes. I was waking up and whatever I had been dreaming about must have been in black and white. Faye smiled and waited patiently for me to rejoin the conversation, which I eventually managed to do. Slowly I realized my responses to Faye were coming from a long-ago forgotten place, a place where a younger version of me lived. A me that had a zest for life. A caring me, engaging and willing to take a stand no matter the consequences. Now I was smiling; I missed this guy. I felt my energy level spike and my awareness increase in ways I had forgotten it could. It was like someone had just spit-shined my brain. The plane ride ended shorty after that; I said my goodbyes and headed home.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Faye or the wonderful way I felt. As I was getting ready for bed that night, I looked in the mirror. The 48-year-old man staring back at me was hideous. His hair turned frizzy from losing the battle of brown vs. gray. There were dark circles under his eyes, stress wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth. His hazel eyes cowardly choosing to be brown in lieu of a beautiful green. Old acne scars were larger and more colorful. It was extremely uncomfortable but I continued to look deeper until I eventually cornered him. I found an older, jaded, cynical, tired and distracted guy. But was this guy really me? I closed my eyes and then looked again. He was still there and I didn’t like him.

“Asshole!” I yelled at him, and then I squirted him with a half a tube of toothpaste.

It took a long time until I finally understood that it’s an average 48-year-old face. Because it’s a 48-year-old face, it’s the face of a warrior. We are all warriors. We get up every day and fight the fight. We search for balance between our careers and families. We wait on hold for the cable company for hours and try to unknot the red tape that engulfs our every want and need. We battle addiction, cancer, financial woes, divorce, the loss of loved ones, career stress, metal illness, the stock market, politics and our family and friends.

The next day the asshole set about changing things. I knew I couldn’t go back to being that younger me, but I also knew I didn’t have to be the guy I was. Like everything in life, I suspected I would find the truth somewhere in the middle.

I declared 2016 to be the year of learning to be me. I made a list of goals for myself, the first of which was to reengage in mindful mediation. I had been practicing on and off for years but like most things, let it go for “more important” pursuits. I truly believe this practice is the mechanism that will allow me to reengineer myself. I want some of the qualities of that younger me, but they need to be melded with the wisdom that 48 years on this planet has afforded me.

I have learned that the battle scars I saw that day in the mirror are camouflage. Hiding behind them are the winners of life battles I’ve lost: fear, pride, envy and lust.

I am not sure how or where this journey is going, but one thing’s for sure; my eyes and mind are open to the possibilities in a way they’ve never been before.

Faye, my darling, you see more than most of us with perfect eyesight ever will. Because of you, I am no longer in a coma and I will be forever grateful to you. I am sure some will think meeting you was a coincidence, that my epiphany would have happened regardless. But I know the truth. Perhaps one day I will posses the ability to give someone in need the same precious gift you gave me. Until then, I wish you amazing experiences worthy of your smile.