Flying always gives me perspective.

We have embarked on a mental health getaway.

I would call it a vacation, but the ante seems to keep getting upped in modern living.

Now they are retreats.

Now they are sacred escapes.

Now they are things keeping me from losing my mind.

Flying always gives me perspective.

Because it puts me in concentrated spaces under precise conditions with people I don’t know.

Inevitable nonsense accompanies inevitable beauty.

So this morning, the nonsense began with me.

I stayed up too late watching a documentary and slept through all three of my alarms.

So instead of waking at 3:30am, I was up at 4:30. Which meant we had about ten minutes to grab our bags, call an Uber, and run out the door for our 6am flight.

It pays to live seven minutes from the airport.

We got to check-in, where the first agent told us we were too late, and our bag was too heavy, which meant we needed to make four pounds vanish, or go to the next desk to see how to accommodate it.

There were three people at that desk. One finishing up with a woman, a second helping the man in front of us, and a third, checking something on his cellphone, which seemed both work-related and immersive. I would have loved for him to acknowledge our existence, but I get it.

This was where it got interesting.

When the first agent finished with the woman, she WENT ON BREAK.

The third agent was still entering data on his phone

But finally the second agent came over…to help Agent Three.

And we were left, for a moment, with a choice. Because it would be easy to conclude that we were being shuttled among people who just didn’t want to help us.

And now my mind starts playing tricks on me, and I’m wondering if people are ignoring us because we happen to be the only white people in the room.

And sure, that happens.

But God doesn’t like ugly.

I’m not going to be rude to people whose help I need; that makes no sense.

I’m not going to go out of my way to ruin someone’s day. That’s not me.

And I’m not going to assume the worst.

This moment is probably not personal at all, and if it is, I refuse to make myself into a Caucasian stereotype.

This is where conversations go off the rails.

This is also where we could go viral in “Ken and Karen Meltdown at LaGuardia.”

So we wait.

Agent Three eventually comes to help us.

He says our bag is indeed four pounds heavy. The fee is the cost of two extra bags.

And we can’t get on because Hillary already closed the gate.

Actually, in his brilliant West Indian accent, he said, “Illary”. And since “Illary” functioned at The Great and Powerful Oz in this story, her name is forever etched in my nervous system.

But every good story has a plot twist.

Because now, Agent Two TAKES OUR SIDE. And she points out we have been standing there for 15 minutes, and if they had helped us when we showed up, Illary would not have closed the door, and we would have been fine.

And after a few phone calls, a handful of magic tricks, and a Word From Illary, Agent Three takes the bag, and sends us on our way.

We are the only people at TSA, and we fly through.

The gate is close, and I jog there in socks.

AND WE GET ON THE PLANE.

We are so late that we can’t sit together. We are on opposite sides of the aisle.

And Lori Field is unhappy with me for about 19 legitimate reasons, which she conveys in a series of texts.

And after about 20 minutes a flight attendant comes over and asks me if we are together.

And then she discretely tells me that when the smoking sign goes off, we can take the aisle in front of us, which is empty.

So now I’m sitting with Lori, at 30,000 feet, having successfully not gone crazy, getting ready to take a Mental Health Retreat

And the day is a metaphor for a big chunk of life.

You try to do something nice.

You make plans.

You mess up the plans.

You experience unexpected resistance and surprising grace.

You encounter people who don’t want to help you, and those who will.

You get to choose what kind of person you’re going to be in the midst of it all.

And then somehow, in one way or another, things work out, despite you and anyone who stood against you.

And sure, days like this also invite us to examine our technique. Just because I experienced grace today doesn’t mean I should do the same thing next time and expect it again.

That’s a formula for disaster.

But for today, I will appreciate the things that went right despite everything I did wrong.

I may be the last one onboard.

But I’m flying.

(Photo Credit: Tove Liu)