It was an early morning flight, and my unpleasant itinerary forced me awake at 5 a.m. and sitting at the gate as the sun was rising.
I was flying alone this trip and luckily scored an aisle seat in the exit row.
Once boarded, I watched the other passengers enter the aircraft, knowing that, while the window seat next to me was momentarily vacant, I would inevitably end up with company.
I assumed correctly. And she was flying solo, too.
Slightly disheveled with a pleasant smile, my exit row companion sat and asked me what being in the exit row meant. My unfiltered, caffeine-deficient answer was more blunt than it needed to be:
“It means that we have to open the door if the plane crashes.”
(Yikes, Jen, why don’t you just mention bombs while you’re at it?)
She looked terrified, and said she wasn’t sure she could handle the responsibility. I assured her that, should anything happen, I would make sure we got that door open.
She apologized for seeming out of sorts and disclosed shocking news – her husband had died about five weeks earlier. As our conversation evolved, I learned that he had taken his own life, leaving her a 61-year-old widow.
I had a choice to make – feign sleep, pretend to work, or make a connection.
I chose humanity.
For the next three hours, we discussed life like old friends, chatting about our respective family situations, relationships, children, jobs and more.
Turns out we had some mutual friends, acquaintances and business connections, a coincidence that occurs often in Oklahoma.
I tried to ask thoughtful questions, provide encouragement and comfort. All the while, I was wondering how this woman who had been through so much in the past month could be so functional.
She credited her resilience to a great therapist and taking things one day at a time. I’m filing that advice away to use forever.
Truth be told, we had more in common than I thought. I found myself sharing in a deeply personal way my own experiences with loss and relationships challenged by loss.
While I was making efforts to comfort her, she was also helping me unpack some of my own trauma. This stranger and I had both suffered in different ways – yet we were resolutely determined to persevere, to forge a path forward in a seemingly senseless world.
At the end of the flight, and our time together, I grew queasy and ended up with my head in an airsick bag during the shaky LaGuardia landing. And there was my new friend, dabbing a napkin with water, so I had a cool cloth to wipe my face with. She cared for me during a time I would have normally been alone.
We pledged to keep in touch and have already connected. In her email to me, she said she was grateful for our short time together, thanking me for providing her with “thoughtful words and calmness.”
On the plane early that morning, I had no idea how impactful my choice to engage with her would be. Now I know.
As we approach a holiday of thankfulness, you can choose humanity. A smile and open ear can change someone’s day. We don’t have to perpetuate a cold and detached world. No, we can come together, even as strangers, and offer one another hope and kindness, relationship and connection.
Even when we are flying solo, we don’t need to be.
Jennifer Sharpe is the special projects editor for The Journal Record, another BridgeTower Media publication.
Image and article originally from libn.com. Read the original article here.