Make A Wish

It all started with the turbulence over the Austrian Alps. I was on my way to Zurich, to approve the packaging for a new brand of juice products we were launching that year. There I was, trying to balance a glass of champagne in my hand so that it didn’t spill on my new, tailor-made, suit or my fine, leather briefcase (in case you’re wondering, I managed it — gulped down the champagne and tucked the glass in the seat pocket in front of me). I’m quite sure I looked every bit the young urban professional I aspired to be, full of poise, sitting calm and collected in a plane full of plebs, who were becoming increasingly fearful of their lives.

Seeing me in this setting would have astounded my teenage self — who at fifteen had decided that he was never, ever going to amount to anything. I felt so proud of what I had achieved in my career. I was the youngest Strategy & Innovation manager in the history of our (Fortune 500) company’s marketing department, I was my supervisor’s favorite executive, and a valuable member in many marketing and cross-functional committees. I was also considered to be my supervisor’s pet, but I didn’t mind. I liked her blunt, no-nonsense style and can-do attitude (it wasn’t just a ‘YOU-can-do-it attitude’ either, she was hardest on herself). I didn’t mind the long hours, the weekends at the office or the pressing deadlines, nor the high risk for failure and / or emergencies, that new products and innovation involved. I was richly compensated for all that. In a country plagued by economic crisis and unemployment, I not only had a coveted job, I was thriving.

I was feeling quite smug, among the terrified crowd in that airplane, even as the lightning struck us. The screaming reached a crescendo, as we appeared to be rapidly losing altitude, when, almost miraculously, we came out of the clouds and everything returned back to normal. And yet, seconds before that, just as I, too, thought we were going to crash, I had noticed something was off. I had felt a palpable relief at the thought of dying. I remembered the sentence forming quite clearly in my mind: ‘It’s finally over’. ​