Before and after flight LH449
I arrived early at the Terminal 2 Wingtips Lounge, hoping to relax with a few drinks and prepare for a good sleep before the long flight to Frankfurt. If all goes well, we'll land at 8 a.m., and the workshop in Monheim starts at 1 p.m. The lounge was busy; they had to close it to Priority Pass users, only allowing Lufthansa business class passengers. Still, some managed to sneak in, like Andy and his spouse John, a gay couple. I started a conversation with them after overhearing them talk about Los Angeles—if you've read my recent articles, you'll know I was there not too long ago. The conversation quickly took an interesting turn.
Andy grew up in Illinois, the only reason he's now living and working in LA is because of a short trip he took years ago, where he met John, his spouse. They got married just two weeks afterward. John, originally from the Philippines, wasn’t even his real name. Like many Asians, he found his original name too difficult for Americans to pronounce, so he adopted a new one. John had come to LA as a tourist without intending to immigrate to the USA.
Andy joked, "Don't talk to John for too long—he can sell you anything in 10 minutes." Although John didn’t sell me anything during our conversation, he did share the secret to his success: selling two Mini Coopers during his first week at a car dealership. The key, he said, is understanding what people really want. In fact, two of his early customers weren’t even there to buy a car—they were just waiting for their old one to be serviced.
After a few drinks, they left for their flight, and I was in the perfect state for some quality sleep on mine. Shortly after settling into business class, I casually greeted the older lady next to me. Her name was Linda. When I asked her about her travel plans, she told me that her husband had passed away two years ago. They had planned this trip to take a river cruise in Europe five years ago. Without him, she was going to complete the journey with another widowed friend, in memory of her husband. She loved him deeply—before they met and married, her life hadn't been particularly happy.
"What was your husband's name?" I asked.
"Andy," she replied.
“What? I just spent an hour talking to another Andy.”
“Really? Does he have red hair?”
Honestly, I couldn't remember. Who pays attention to a stranger’s hair color in a bar? “I’m not sure,” I admitted.
Finally, I drifted off to sleep, only to be abruptly awakened by the lights turning on and a sudden announcement of the diversion, serious refresher of emergency landing procedures. The crew instructed us to loosen our collars, remove our eyeglasses, put on our shoes, and wear a jacket—this wasn’t just routine.
“I can smell something’s wrong,” Linda whispered. “Andy always said my nose was sensitive.”
My allergies prevent me from smelling much of anything, but I trusted her. The Wi-Fi was off, the AC was off, and the lights flickered intermittently. The cabin fell silent. Everyone must have lost in their thoughts. In mine, I couldn’t help but worry about my wife and kids. I knew my wife, a strong woman who once told me she could be the breadwinner for the family*, would take care of our children. Still, the thought of never seeing them again, at least in this world, filled me with sadness. I had so much left to do—so much left to write, so many missions to complete, so many dreams to realize. But if this was it, it was it.
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I turned to Linda, and she did the same. We looked into each other’s eyes. There was a trace of fear in her eyes, but mostly peace. No one wants to die like this, but if she did, I sensed she’d be at peace, knowing she could finally be reunited with her Andy. I felt happy for her, yet still sad for myself. The mix of those feelings brought me a sense of calm magically.
Just then, a colleague from Bayer took a photo of the rising sun through the window. It was the right timing; we could see land on the horizon. The flight landed safely in Iceland. I felt deeply grateful for the chance to continue experiencing life fully.
Days later, after the workshops concluded, while we were driving to visit Anna*’s house, my new manager, Daniel, said, “We’ve been in two workshops together, the one in April and this one. I see two very different versions of you. This time, I can sense the fire in you—the good kind, not the fire of anger.”
I knew what he meant. The fire of LIFE, rekindled after 2018, was burning stronger. However, as my career coach, Cindy Jensen ICF PCC , recently advised me, I must be careful not to let it burn too fast or fiercely. Sometimes, it’s necessary to slow down.
Want the North Star? Go South.?
--END--
08/31/2024, STL Home. :)
NOTE: All names in this article are fake, except for my beloved coach, Cindy.
References:
*Wondering why we make sure to visit Anna? Read Anna's story.