I was lucky enough on my second flight back to Nashville to sit next to a curious girl, perhaps 8 years old, and her grandmother. It seemed like it might be the girl's first time flying, and the way she looked around the plane and out the window was both cute and inspiring. After years of flights to and from home, I'd lost much of the joy and wonder of flying. Yet as she stared out the window at clouds, I also stared at the fluffy oceans and mountains. As she watched glowing cities that sprawled underneath us that night, I sat mesmerized by the grids of lights, the veins of roads, the ant-like crawl of cars.
I listened with renewed interest to the safety video, pondering the reasons behind placement of emergency exits and lights. And this: "Always put your own mask on first before helping others." What a sentence! How often I forget to take care of myself before helping others. How often I put on a mask (not to mention a physical one for droplet precautions) before talking with patients, and wonder whether I ought to distance myself so.
Plus, the girl and her grandmother were just wonderful to sit next to: exchanges of food and inside jokes, questions and answers about the wide world, hand-on-shoulder cheek-to-cheek gazing out the window. And then there was the problem-solving.
I typically try to be a actively helpful passenger. On my first flight, for example, I noticed my seatmate talking with a woman across the aisle and asked if they'd like to sit together. (Yes, of course.) As the girl and her grandmother boarded next to me, I offered to place overhead a bag they were having trouble fitting under the seat. (Thank you, but no, it's full of snacks we'll need.) I then watched as the grandmother worked it as far as possible under the seat in front of her, leaving no leg space. Fortunately, the girl graciously allowed her to share the window seat's leg space, and all was well.
Besides being absolutely adorable, it reminded me of something Sterling K. Brown had quoted from Lao Tzu at Stanford's commencement the prior day: "A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving." He used it in the context of battling perfectionism and enjoying the process of work. But on this flight, it spoke to the value of the journey itself. Maybe if they had agreed to let me move the bag, they'd have missed out on this bonding experience.
So for the rest of the flight, I just waited and did nothing.
When the grandmother dropped a napkin and groped around in the dark for it, I could have turned on my overhead light or my phone's flashlight. But I did nothing. The girl bent down to search, and her wide eyes and nimble hands soon found it.
When the grandmother was scrolling through city after city to add Nashville to the clock app, sometimes swiping too low and bringing up a notifications screen, I could have helped her use the search function. But I did nothing. The girl giggled and closed the unwanted screen each time it popped up, and they eventually reached Nashville together.
When we had landed and the grandmother struggled to fit everything back in the bag, I could have helped add weight to let her zip it. But I did nothing. The girl picked out a few nearly-finished snack boxes and finished them. The rest fit, and the bag closed.
There were more such instances. In each, I did nothing and watched them figure it out together. I watched their journey unfold without rushing them to their final destination. I might have watched experience turn into traveling skills and cherished memories. Perhaps, my help would not have been helpful after all. Always put your own mask on first before helping others...and give them time to maybe help themselves. The journey might be worth more than the destination.
I listened with renewed interest to the safety video, pondering the reasons behind placement of emergency exits and lights. And this: "Always put your own mask on first before helping others." What a sentence! How often I forget to take care of myself before helping others. How often I put on a mask (not to mention a physical one for droplet precautions) before talking with patients, and wonder whether I ought to distance myself so.
Plus, the girl and her grandmother were just wonderful to sit next to: exchanges of food and inside jokes, questions and answers about the wide world, hand-on-shoulder cheek-to-cheek gazing out the window. And then there was the problem-solving.
I typically try to be a actively helpful passenger. On my first flight, for example, I noticed my seatmate talking with a woman across the aisle and asked if they'd like to sit together. (Yes, of course.) As the girl and her grandmother boarded next to me, I offered to place overhead a bag they were having trouble fitting under the seat. (Thank you, but no, it's full of snacks we'll need.) I then watched as the grandmother worked it as far as possible under the seat in front of her, leaving no leg space. Fortunately, the girl graciously allowed her to share the window seat's leg space, and all was well.
Besides being absolutely adorable, it reminded me of something Sterling K. Brown had quoted from Lao Tzu at Stanford's commencement the prior day: "A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving." He used it in the context of battling perfectionism and enjoying the process of work. But on this flight, it spoke to the value of the journey itself. Maybe if they had agreed to let me move the bag, they'd have missed out on this bonding experience.
So for the rest of the flight, I just waited and did nothing.
When the grandmother dropped a napkin and groped around in the dark for it, I could have turned on my overhead light or my phone's flashlight. But I did nothing. The girl bent down to search, and her wide eyes and nimble hands soon found it.
When the grandmother was scrolling through city after city to add Nashville to the clock app, sometimes swiping too low and bringing up a notifications screen, I could have helped her use the search function. But I did nothing. The girl giggled and closed the unwanted screen each time it popped up, and they eventually reached Nashville together.
When we had landed and the grandmother struggled to fit everything back in the bag, I could have helped add weight to let her zip it. But I did nothing. The girl picked out a few nearly-finished snack boxes and finished them. The rest fit, and the bag closed.
There were more such instances. In each, I did nothing and watched them figure it out together. I watched their journey unfold without rushing them to their final destination. I might have watched experience turn into traveling skills and cherished memories. Perhaps, my help would not have been helpful after all. Always put your own mask on first before helping others...and give them time to maybe help themselves. The journey might be worth more than the destination.
No comments:
Post a Comment