I thought I was being smart. That’s usually how my bad ideas start. The night before my first flight ever, I figured I’d pull an all nighter. Pop an adderall and immerse myself into a finishing a painting. The logic was simple.. stay awake til sunrise, eat a fat ass sandwich, drag myself onto that plane, and pass out for the whole ride. No nerves, no forced chatter with strangers, no awareness of the fact that I was hurtling through the sky in a glorified can of biscuits. Just pure unconscious bliss.
But fuck, that plan aged fast.
The morning was so gotdamn bright. One of those sunrises that feels personal. I got to the airport feeling like I’d been up for a week. I had pulled these types of all nighters before and was fine when morning came. But this time, my body was heavy, like I was dragging myself through thick air. Everything moved too fast and too slow at the same time. Security lines, boarding calls, that cheerful ass “Good morning!” from the flight attendant.
I hit my seat and slumped down, dead set on sleeping. The seat was stiff. It was hot as fuck. The light from everyone’s open window poured in like it was trying to cook my eyeballs. And then came the soundtrack: a symphony of chaos. Babies wailing in surround sound, a group of grown adults laughing like they were at a fuckin tailgate, and some kid behind me repeatedly kicking my seat like he was testing its durability. The shit was a movie.
I remember thinking, God’s testing me right now.
Every time I was close to drifting off, something yanked me back. The pilot’s annoying ass voice crackling over the intercom. The drink cart slamming my elbow. Twice. The laughter behind me swelling like a wave. It wasn’t even the kind of noise you could get used to. It was unpredictable, like the universe wanted to make sure I didn’t miss a single moment of my own exhaustion.
At one point, I caught myself just staring out the tiny part of window next to the person sitting next to me. The sky outside was blue and beautiful as fuck. But honestly it was looking too cheerful for how dead I felt inside. The clouds looked soft enough to sleep on, but they were a million miles away.
When we finally landed, I wasn’t relieved. I was delirious. I stumbled off that plane like I’d just survived a stroke. My first flight wasn’t some romantic coming of age moment. It was loud, uncomfortable, and so fuckin miserable. But looking back, it fits.
Because really nothing about chasing something new, whether it’s a trip, a dream, or a damn airplane ride, is ever as peaceful as you plan it to be. It’s always a little chaotic, a little uncomfortable, and usually lit by the world’s brightest sun when all you want is darkness.
That’s the trade off for going somewhere you’ve never been.
You give up your comfort for the chance to see what’s next.