I’m a low maintenance flyer. First class and business status haven’t yet appeared by my name. As tempting as it sounds, I’ve never shelled out the cash for the comfort seats with extra leg room either. From what friends tell me, if you do it once it’s really hard to go back.
The humble rear of the plane with one free carry-on is the kind of traveling I’m accustomed to. A window or aisle seat serve as a consolation.
Besides securing an armrest of my own, I travel best from the window or aisle to better handle my distaste for enclosed spaces. I could never be an astronaut.
Having even an illusion of more personal space helps with my self-diagnosis of Restless Leg Syndrome – a condition often connected to anemia (something I’m professionally diagnosed with).
I’m not sure what came first, the RLS or my claustrophobia.
It’s a sensation I’ve experienced as far back as I can remember. Simply the thought of sitting in a car for more than twenty minutes or a two hour movie used to make me uncontrollably antsy. I’d shuffle up and down theater aisles or watch while standing up counting the minutes till the credits rolled. My attention could only focus on the nagging discomfort. The more crowded it was, the worse off it became. I’d feel trapped.
My symptoms peaked in the evenings. There were many memories of sleepless nights trying to convince my mom I wasn’t just avoiding bedtime. I would describe the sensation to her as “a pin-pall bouncing around in my stomach and creepy crawlys in my legs.” I wasn’t a super active kid but whenever I experienced strong RLS symptoms, the only cure was to get up and move around.
I still experience the physical urges from time to time, but thankfully nowhere near as intense. I’ve also learned how to tone down the dramatics around it.
It wasn’t until I saw a pharmaceutical commercial for RLS as an adult that I realized my condition had a name. To my relief, suffering with tingly legs wasn’t all in my head. The condition affects 7-10% of the US population.
I’ve been lucky enough to have a thoughtful travel companion who always takes the middle seat.
In our thirteen years together, I can’t remember the last time I sat in the middle. Jordan never announces it or makes it a thing; I never ask. It slips into both of our subconscious, like going to sleep on our side of the bed. The subtle gesture says a lot about him.
In fact, his kindness extends to strangers thousands of feet in the air. He can make a friend anywhere. On last month’s trip to North Carolina, he pushed through flight anxiety and the Dramamine in his system and made a connection with a chatty window seat-passenger. David was traveling alone to attend a relative’s funeral. I was touched by the warmth the stranger radiated under his circumstances. He had a contagious husky laugh that reverberated to the front of the plane.
By the time we touched down on the tarmac, we were invited to visit his family-owned farm and hardware store – locally beloved businesses a town over from where we live.
Before the days of Netflix, Comedy Central constantly replayed The Wedding Singer with Adam Sandler. Somehow I never tired of it.
If you’d never spent afternoons after school rewatching it the plot is simple: His character is heartbroken after getting stood up at the alter. At a tender age, the irony of singing about love after being dumped was not lost on me.
Enter the lovable banquet server, Drew Barrymore who befriends him. Together they plan her dream wedding to the absolute wrong guy. The two hit it off and develop genuine feelings for each other.
There’s a touching moment when Drew, riddled with red flags about her own relationship, asks how Adam knew his ex wasn’t right for him when they were together. After thinking about it a minute he recalled, “I remember we went to the Grand Canyon one time. We were flying there and I’d never been before and Linda had, so you would think that she would give me the window seat but she didn’t… not that that’s a big deal, you know. It’s just there were a lot of little things like that.”
Her response, “Not at all. I think it’s the little things that count.”
I thought I understood it back then. I understand it so much more now.
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