If You See Me At a Party....

The most interesting person at any party is a Flight Attendant. This is a widely known fact (I think). As soon as a Flight Attendant's occupation is known, there is a constant stream of questions. "What's your route?/What's your favorite city?/Tell us some funny stories!" The more cringe-worthy and embarrassing the better, and a flight attendant can always oblige with a humdinger. We are the flies on the proverbial wall of of humanity. We are (on the bad days) the only thing holding together the delicate veil of civility amongst strangers, but also (on the good days...oh the good days!) we are often the impetus and first row ticket holders to some of life's most heart warming moments. I guess that's why our stories are of such interest. Anything can happen in a flying tube. It can and it does.

I have been a Flight Attendant for 27 years. Like most, I signed up for the adventure. For the jet-setting lifestyle and all the mystery and allure that accompanies that choice. It is an addictive career, a way of living and being. In truth, it ruins you for anything else. I started at age 21. Young and of course naive. Blissfully unaware of the latter. In my profession, your fellow crew-members change from week to week or even day to day. You are butt-cheek to butt-cheek with a stranger on a collapsable jumpseat sized for a shrunken version of a bygone population, smiling placidly down the aisle while simultaneously jockeying for shoulder space. With any luck, you will form a quick connection with your crew members and passengers, but quite possibly not. Acceptable spacial boundaries are heinously crossed before the aircraft even pushes off the gate. In truth, being a flight attendant is unwittingly signing up for a massive human psychology experiment. And therein lies the beauty.

As a result of this unique set of working conditions, one has the opportunity (if seized upon) to hear thousands of extraordinary stories. Sometimes the person sitting next to you is the last person with whom you would ever want to spend copious amounts of time. Their backgrounds, beliefs, work habits and ethics could easily be so anathema to your own convictions, you may as well be seated next to the spawn of Satan. But somehow you manage to get over and on with it for everyone's sake. Sometimes the most petulant passenger acts out because they are desperate to be seen. To be heard. Maybe that's why they insist on loitering in your galley (your workspace for crying out loud!). Sure, maybe they need to empty their bladder, but maybe what they really need is a hug. The opportunities for offense are limitless, but so are the opportunities for profound connection.

As a new flight attendant, I couldn't have known all this of course. I was too blank a canvas at that point. Inebriated with my own youth. Over the years, however, the cumulative effect of maturation, eating a little road dirt and taking some time for self reflection, I came to the realization that the universe did not, in fact, orbit around me. At some point I had the mind boggling realization that perhaps my job could be more than just that. What if my career could also be my calling? What if I woke up every day and set my intention to leave the world a little better than how I found it?

It was at this point that instead of talking, I decided to listen. For maybe the first time, I listened without forming an opinion or cuing up a retort. I listened earnestly. I gradually succumbed to the practice of holding my tongue. My silence allowed others to share more deeply because I wasn't interrupting them. I heard their stories and held their hands as they spoke of their hurts, wounds and yes...their triumphs. I realized that my "assumptions" were generally wrong, and that the facades that we project are often a mask for our pain.

Their journeys were uniquely different from my own, yet they were kindred souls. Shoulders bent forward, surging defiantly down the field as they survived the unsurvivable. Pain is pain. In that way we are the same. Their stories of resilience were a salve. "Jumpseat therapy" as I cheekily call it. I finally understood in the most intrinsic way, that we are all just doing the best we can. At the end of the day, despite our differences (which are many), we all want to be happy. To find community. To be understood. Loved. Safe. Regardless of race, color, creed, socioeconomic placement or education, we all need it. Crave it. Deserve it.

No longer on auto-pilot, I began peppering in as many random acts of kindness as I could. I lovingly coined it "pixie dust." I recognized the look of helplessness in seat 3C and softly attended to it. I was constantly on the lookout for ways to mitigate the pain of others. To be the salve. It quite literally changed the lens through which I viewed humanity and the capacity we all carry within us to withstand and thrive. With each "Good Morning" I searched for the good, and I always found it.

So if you see me at a party, yes, I'll have my cache of stories-on-demand. (Humdingers!) Yes, I've had an emergency landing. No, I don't have an alternate life and family on the opposite coast (sorry to disappoint!). But if I may, I'd love you tell you that every interaction with every person you meet matters. Every kindness, every extra moment you spare to listen is a gift to someone. And if we could all summon the courage to engage with that person that we thoro dislike (spawn of Satan excluded, of course), we might just surprise ourselves. And wouldn't that be the most interesting story at the party?