Plane Thoughts
Today I was sitting in a bar at Auckland airport after a trip to the office, quietly sipping a cool glass of chardonnay. I was soaking in the atmosphere, fascinated as I always am by the vast and eclectic range of people hustling and bustling from here to there and everywhere. I was reminded of Dr. Seuss’s famous poem: “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on you own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go...” Everyone looked so purposeful; everyone had a place to be. If they weren’t there yet, they would be soon.
Then a woman caught my eye. She was striving valiantly to juggle a suitcase, a small squirming baby, and the accompanying ‘kit’ - you know, the kit one carries like an extra appendage when one has a small baby. As I continued to sip my chardonnay watching her, I was smiling on the inside because I knew her struggle. A thought crossed my mind that I’m so glad I’m not her anymore. I’m so glad I’m here on my own, sipping my chardonnay.
When my plane was called to board, I noticed that she was checking in with me and felt compassion for her that she’d have to endure the flight with her baby and her kit. I followed her onto the plane and discovered she would be sitting right next to me. I was secretly happy. After a long wait in the aisle while she apologetically positioned both baby and kit, I sat next to her. That’s when it happened. The baby started making eyes at me, and giggling at me for reasons known only to himself. Something happened to me emotionally at that point; I melted. I became one of those strangers who wanted to squeeze the cheeks of this other Mother’s baby. I wanted him to sit on my lap. I had to try very hard not to act on my impulses. After a brief flirtation with the child, I started to think about my own boys when they were that age - about 3-5 months old. What struck me was that I couldn’t remember. If you don’t already know this about me, I’m quite soft. I turned my head towards the window and fought back the tears because I suddenly missed my boys so much. I don’t mean I missed them just today, I mean I missed all of them. I missed them when they were 3 months old. I missed them when they were one. I missed them when they were two... I missed everything about them, including the day I’d missed today. I got to thinking why it was so hard to remember them being all of that. I figured it was because we were so close, our growing together had just become absorbed into my being. It just was. They are in the blood that runs through my veins. They are in every breath I take; my life force. I was reminded of another famous poem by E.E.Cummings: “I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart). I am never without it (anywhere I go you go my dear).”
While the grumpy woman in the back seat of the plane behind us cast judgmental looks and sighed judgmental sighs throughout the flight, I reveled in my position and was so grateful to have been reminded of what my life has been. I decided it was OK I couldn’t visualise myself positioned in the seat next to me anymore - this is their time. Everything my boys are today, and everything I am, is a product of what we’ve been together right from the beginning until today.
I was amazed to have come full circle in my experience with this woman in a 25 minute flight. I started out being glad I wasn’t her; being glad that I was the one casually sipping on my chardonnay at the start of it all. In the end, I envied her position because she still has it all to come, and that’s the most exciting journey of all.
When I got home, I gave my boys a big hug and told them how much I’d missed them. More than they’ll ever know.
