The Emotional, Existential World of Air Travel
40,000 feet in the air, it’s hard to feel like we have a place in the world. Our day-to-day monotony is replaced with an existential plunge into the nature of time and space.
There’s a common sentiment that airports are untethered, unruly places. Alyssa Limperis summarized this best in her Hall of Fame tweet back in 2018. Something happens to us when we cross the TSA threshold. And we don’t return to normal again until we take our first breath of fresh air at our destination.
Last month I got to SFO with time to spare for my redeye back to Ohio. I felt excited, tired, and a bit anxious about how time with loved ones would go.
Naturally, I posted up at the nearest airport bar and got to work. About 5 minutes into my Hazy IPA I felt a tap on my shoulder. Just behind me was a woman in her 40s white-knuckling a double vodka soda.
“Do you know your daddy?”
“I’m not sure I understand your question.” I responded.
“Have you ever met your father?” she parroted.
I was on the way home for Thanksgiving and my dad would be picking me up from the airport. This complete stranger introduced herself to me as Kimberly. She immediately captured my curiosity. I gestured toward the seat next to me and she dove straight into an epic family saga. Kimberly discovered a few weeks earlier that she was adopted. This news was shared with her because her biological father passed away. As if this wasn’t enough of a shock, she was told this by her siblings. Siblings she previously didn’t know she had.
Kimberly was on her way from SFO to Ohio to meet this family for the first time. Her brother was going to pick her up from the airport. All she had at her disposal to locate him was his Facebook profile.
As we sat there at the bar and chatted, there was a point when I had to talk her out of marching straight to the exit and calling off the whole ordeal.
She boarded our plane; buzzing with fear, possibility, and Titos. A few hours later we touched down in Ohio. Kimberly and I hugged each other and she left my life forever. I hope she found whatever she was looking for.
Why did this stranger feel like pouring out her life story to me? Why was I so invested in it? I don’t talk to strangers on public buses. My barber doesn’t know me by name. I don’t even have a particularly friendly face. The airport unlocked a mysterious, liminal space that pulled the two of us together for just a moment.
We’re so emotional during air travel. I have theories why this is the case. We’re typically exhausted, and once in the air, perhaps the higher altitude causes mood swings. But we’re also breaking out of the normal pattern of our lives. We’re revisiting places we used to live and versions of ourselves we used to be.
40,000 feet in the air; in a tiny cabin, it’s hard to feel like we have a place in the world. The existential nature of time and space replaces the monotony of our day-to-day.
But only for a few hours. Somehow, it’s easier to connect. We may even ugly-cry while watching Love, Simon. (Hypothetically speaking!) Perhaps we allow our flaws and insecurities to unveil themselves to complete strangers. As we emerge from the airport, a loved one, or an Uber pulls us back to reality.
Life regains its form and we become calm, collected, and guarded. We don’t over-share, we look at our phones too much, and we avoid eye contact with people we pass on the street. Flying sucks. It’s crowded, expensive, and uncomfortable. But it gets us where we want to go, so we put up with it. Sometimes it also gives us an unexpected gift.
A long time ago, I saw a quote etched into a bathroom wall from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Oxford hasn’t recognized sonder as an official English word, it’s simply a made-up one by a creative writer. I think about sonder every time I fly.
Remember this: Everyone has their own story.
