The View From The Window Seat

Here are a few things I’ve noticed lately. I consider this Field Notes from a reluctant flyer:

1. The Airport Regular

When you start recognizing TSA agents and gate attendants in states you don’t even live in, it’s time to seek help. You’re traveling too much. Last week I caught myself calling out, “Hey George! Look at you, buddy! You lose some weight?”

George didn’t ask for my input, and now I’m pretty sure I’m on a super-secret TSA watchlist for excessive friendliness.

Watch out for the friendly guy! He’s trouble!

2. Becoming Goldilocks

I don’t react to temperature the way I used to. As a young man, the thermometer could swing wildly from season to season, and I’d just shrug my shoulders. Pure laissez-faire. Suck it up, buttercup.

Unfortunately, something has changed. Now, if the temperature shifts by three degrees, I panic. I’m stripping off layers as fast as I can or piling them back on even faster. I’ve become a modern-day Goldilocks—it has to be just right. Good God, what’s happening to me? I’ve become my mother. (Sorry, Mom!)

3. Fuel for the Soul (and the Schedule)

A good breakfast makes all the difference. During the week, I rarely eat a thing before rushing out the door. You could call my breakfast strategy a mixture of “despair and black coffee.” Yes, yes, I know, it’s folly, but I’m either too busy or not all that hungry.

On the weekend, though, I’m the exact opposite—and maybe that’s why I actually get things done. Give me a ham-and-cheese omelet, some toast, a little fruit, and a steaming hot cup of coffee, and I’ll walk away from the table with big plans. I suspect it’s my Amish heritage kicking in: fuel up like a plow horse, then work until the dinner bell chimes or I pass out on the couch—whichever comes first.

4. The Magic of the Jet Age

Lately, I’ve been writing a lot about my travels. I’ve had to hit the road for work for the first time in my career, and I keep returning to one basic, mind-bending concept: I can begin my day in Philadelphia, grabbing a soft pretzel for breakfast, and by lunch, I’m eating fish tacos from a food truck in sunny Florida.

The naive, little kid inside me—the one who thought he might never leave his small town—is flabbergasted by the idea. A few hours later, I could easily be somewhere else entirely. I’m no jet-setter by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a strange, beautiful thing to consider. I love how it opens up your world. (I swear though that I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled non-travel blogs.)

Yes, folks: I am now a Traveling Man.

5. White Noise Revelation

I love white noise—the soft drone of a dishwasher or a washing machine puts me in a pure, meditative trance.

A jet engine, however, is a different story. On a recent flight, the engine rumble was so deafening my skull was literally vibrating. Desperate, I jammed in my headphones just to muffle the roar and suffered in relative silence for two hours.

It was only when the captain announced our descent that I thought to ask myself: Wait, don’t these headphones have noise cancellation?

Of course they did. If only I’d thought to press the button two hours earlier. Oh, brother.

6. The Hazards of People Watching

I’m a chronic people watcher. Whether I’m running errands, sitting in a hospital waiting room, at church, or waiting at a gate, I’m building elaborate backstories for everyone in my line of sight.

Take the woman sitting across from me with the severe scowl. Did her husband mess up this morning? Did he forget to kiss her goodbye? Is he cheating on her? Is she cheating on him? Or maybe it’s not marriage drama at all—maybe she’s stressing over a late work project or a kid who keeps getting sent to the principal’s office. It’s my little way of remembering that everyone is carrying some kind of burden or joy inside of them.

It’s all innocent fun until my brain writes a check my body can’t cash. “People watching” gets dangerous fast when you lock eyes with the wrong demographic:

• NFL-Sized Men: Tall athletic guys have zero patience for a mild-mannered middle-aged man staring at them from two rows over. I sat near a guy recently who looked like he was fined by the Smile Police every time he let out the hint of a grin. He was extremely paranoid, scanning the room, and I was one awkward glance away from getting folded into a pretzel and stuffed into an airport trash can. (Though I have to admit, the stories I made up about him were fantastic.)
• The Opposite Sex: A fine line exists between “observant writer” and “Exhibit A in a restraining order hearing.” I try very hard not to look like I’m auditioning for a true-crime documentary.
• Retail Cashiers: They hate a witness. The moment you remember a detail and say, “Wait, but a second ago you said…” their eyes deaden. Nobody wants the guy with the clipboard memory tracking their shift.

Ah, the glorious, awkward craziness of being a professional people watcher.

7. Which Seat Are You Picking

Finally, the seat you choose on an airplane is a fascinating case study in human psychology. It says a lot about who you are. Of course, everyone would prefer First Class, but after that, it gets complicated: aisle or window?

I tend to pick the window seat. I’m a little kid at heart—I love to watch the puffy clouds and look out over the world. I imagine myself gliding with the plane. Window-seaters are the perpetual optimists. They’re the people who get up early to capture photos of the sunrise and insist on unblocked views of sunsets and landmarks. The only major drawback? I have to strictly ration my liquids in the terminal, because crawling over two sleeping strangers to get to the airplane lavatory is no fun for anyone.

The next choice is the aisle seat. Two distinct groups go for the aisle: anyone over 5’8” and people with small bladders. Aisle-seaters prioritize freedom—the ability to stand up, stretch, or use the restroom without asking permission or disturbing their neighbors. They’re the petition-starters of the group. They’re the power-hungry. (And while the extra legroom is great, I’m 5’7’’ on a good day, so stretching out isn’t quite the urgent medical necessity for me that it is for others.)

Then, of course, there’s the middle seat. Let’s all agree the middle seat is the first seat in Hell. The only people who willingly pick it are know-it-alls, movie spoilers, and social media braggers: “Look at me, squeezed into the middle on my way to a beautiful Hawaiian island!” Okay, okay, I may be a bit biased but hopefully you get my humor!

What about you? Are you a window-seated optimist, a power-hungry aisle-seater, or a middle-seat chaotic force? And what’s the most absurd thing you’ve realized about yourself while traveling lately? Are you as crazy as me?