Put Yourself in Airplane Mode

I’m on my way to see my mom, who is dying. I have a long layover in Chicago, so after we land, I make my way through thousands of people. I think to myself that it’s amazing that all of these people are vibrating through time together, and that it’s even more amazing to witness the interactions and variance that occurs when this many people are shoved together in one place. Everywhere I turn, there are people: Old people, shuffling randomly across and against the current of humanity; Groups of students blocking the flow, excited to be going anywhere with their friends, families, soldiers, business people talking into their phones and into the ears of their companions. There are kids uncomfortably stretching the distance between the safety of their parents and the unknown that comes from going far enough to blend into the masses.

I’m looking for a place to sit. Like most people I like to have a little space all around me to stretch out and not be touched by other people or their stuff. Finding all of this close to an electrical outlet would be like winning the lottery. I’ll settle for a little space.

My layover is long enough that my flight is not yet on the departures board, so I don’t even know which gate I need to orbit. I walk towards the middle of my current universe, the food court. I assess each hall that leads to the various concourses. “C” looks the most neglected, so I am hopeful I will find my space there. As I walk, I remember this space. I spent time here on my last trip to see my mom. I also see a sign for the Chapel. I think, “Now there is a place that will certainly be quiet, and deserted.” I’m right. With the exception of one kneeling man who looks up with surprise when I enter, there is no one here. He and I inhabit a large, empty, quiet room in the middle of a busy airport.

I put in my headphones and set my timer for 30 minutes. I meditate, or try. I’m still not very good at it, so it’s more like a lucid dream. I think about my breathing. I think about the noises that break the silence. I think about my mom. I think about my childhood. I realize that I’ve effectively put myself in airplane mode and it’s a really nice place to be.

I think about when I was young, playing in a spring wheat field. In particular, I remember how happy I was to find a little spot in the middle where the planter failed to drop seed

earlier in the year. It felt like I had my own private fort as I sat in the dirt, surrounded by 36 inch walls of green wheat, looking up at blue skies. I was as alone as I had ever been and I was happy.

I connect to the warm feeling of that happiness in the quiet chapel. I’m thinking about how finding a new hiding space 30 years later in such a strange place is an amazing gift as the silence is broken by the alarm in my headphones.