On Flying, Turbulence, and Holding a Stranger's Hand

The man sitting next to me on this flight was no exception to my “we would never have met” rule. I am ashamed to say I judged him before he sat down. He was a burly, overweight man in his 50s with bloodshot eyes. He wore an old grey cutoff T-shirt that barely covered his belly, his jeans were unwashed, and he reeked of cigarette smoke. In our post-Trump world, I found myself dividing us into parties, and thought: We did not vote for the same candidate.

As I attempted to recline, the plane took an unexpected dip, and the fasten seatbelt sign dinged on. It is a habit I have developed to strike up conversation with my neighbor during rough air, a helpful distraction at 37,000 feet.

This practice has led me to hear amazing stories, and each time I am awestruck by the lives we all live. I have sat next to a man traveling to see his wife who was just diagnosed with cancer weeks after their wedding, and a physicist remaking Alexander Grand Bell’s electricity grid across the country. I have sat next to two Priests and a Nun, and on a separate flight a Rabbi too.

As our plane bounded through a turbulent sky I asked my neighbor a benign question: What was his reason for travel? It turned out that he was a mechanic, but not just any mechanic. He was one of only a handful of mechanics that fix nuclear submarine propellers for the Navy, and so he is flown to ports across the country. He was also the father of a little girl and was looking forward to finally getting home to see her. How amazing, I thought, embarrassed by how easily I judged him without knowledge of his life.

Despite the interesting conversation, the turbulence increased and I became distressed. “Not as smooth as they said”, he laughed.

Despite growing up overseas and flying during monsoon season to get home, I have minimal resilience to cope with turbulence. Our plane bounded ferociously and I just could not handle it. I looked over at my neighbor with unabashed fear.

In that instant, this man twenty years my senior and from a different world met my gaze without judgment.

He extended his callused hand, “Would this help?”

I placed my anxious hand in his and for the next few minutes we were no longer strangers but passengers linked, both hoping for a safe journey home. If not for this trip our lives would have never crossed. But in that moment this stranger offered me his hand and it saved me, and all I could say was thank you.