CONNECTION
Sometimes when life seems like the worst (like this week of doozies), you’re reminded in simple ways that some people *do* believe we’re all in this together.
As I boarded my flight home from DC, my seat-mate approached and started some friendly chit-chat as we got settled. A suburban surfer dad from San Diego named Mark, married with kids, former Naval officer, local city councilman, works as a consultant for the government, travels to DC a lot – a super nice, laid back SoCal fella.
He asks what I was doing in DC, we talk a bit about the travel and work I do in the Middle East. He’s equally well-traveled and we compare notes on food, souks, tourist stuff and the like. He mentions his wife often accompanies him on business trips, and I mention the same about my husband; he doesn’t blink and the conversation resumes.
Behind us, a Jordanian couple with their three kids overhears me talking about my Middle East travels. They excitedly ask me about what I liked (everywhere I’ve been has been amazing) and how did I like the hospitality (always awesome). We all chat a bit before takeoff. It’s a nice, genuine moment.
For the rest of the flight, Mark and I alternate between watching TV and chatting – commiserating on 45’s awfulness, talking about how our travel experiences have shaped our (proud liberal snowflake) worldview. He asks if I have kids, and I glowingly tell him about the exploits of my nieces and nephews, and my role as their doting “Gunkle”.
“They’re lucky kids. My Uncle Bob and Uncle Jack basically raised me,” explaining he had a single mom and an absent father and that his gay uncles were his default father figures. He said it so matter-of-fact, it put a lump in my throat. We bonded even more about divorce, and single parents, and creating your own family.
The plane landed, the Jordanian dad gave me his business card and told me to drop him a line next time I’m in Abu Dhabi. As we deplaned into the terminal, I handed my card and offered a handshake to Mark, thanking him for the lovely conversation – and he pulled me into a big hug, offering his own thanks, and saying it’s stuff like this that “renews his faith in humanity.” Me too, I smiled. And I meant it. We both needed it.
Out on the curb, I call for my Lyft; when the driver arrives, I check the app. “Michelle, right?” She smiles and cheekily corrects me, “it’s Mee-shell, the Brazilian pronunciation.” I get in the car and respond by singing “Mee-shell, my belle… blah blah blah blah blah blah something in French, something in French…”
She giggles. I immediately flash on my father, who always (*always*) used to sing-greet someone if they were named after a song. Charmed the birds out of the trees, that guy – and I silently thank him for instilling in me the same instinct to always show kindness and friendliness to strangers.
I softly begin to weep in the back seat on my ride home – my heart heavy thinking of dad, hoping he would be proud of me, and worrying how the weight of the world right now is so achingly heavy.
For a few hours during my trip, all that weight was washed away by kindness and humanity and connection. I’m truly lucky and privileged to do the traveling I do, and to be given the gift of connections like these.
We’ll get through this, but only together.
