Looking out the window of the plane, I reflect back on the great idea which was born many years ago and put into motion many months ago. Have I really neglected the opportunities to share my story? No matter which way I framed the answer it was still definite, and as I stared out the window the words quietly escaped my lips, "Yes". That is what happens when you find yourself deep in reflection looking out the window at 35,000 feet in the air on a crowded airplane, you mumble to the window in answer to your own thoughts. These are the actions that make a seemingly average looking individual, appear as a troubled person that you would rather not sit next to. Thankfully, I was sharing the row with no one.
Well, that is not entirely true... I was sharing my space with the man sitting behind me who had slumped down in his uncomfortable airline seat in an attempt to find relaxation. Normally I would say, "more power to you, sir" but today I find him incredibly annoying as his feet have navigated their way into my space. On most airlines there is a bar down there that is designed to separate his space from mine, and I struggled against the desire to lean over and investigate why that bar is not doing its job. The fact that his feet had bumped my feet several times during this flight, had me assuming the same position he had taken in order to avoid the uncomfortable contact of a strange man. May I say that the position of choice for this man is not relaxing or comfortable in any way. Yes on any other day I would say "more power to you" and yet I am silently screaming inside, "PERSONAL SPACE BUDDY, RESPECT IT!". More often than not this is the drawback of flying Greyhound in the sky. It is an exercise of patient and visualization that come together in order to see me through. At least this flight from Boise to Portland is short.
So here I am looking out the window waiting for the wheels to touchdown, and it is evident to me that my stories must be shared. Time to put an end to my silence or rather procrastination and allow myself the therapy of voicing thoughts to the world.
It would be a difficult thing to catch up on all that has happened in the past several months. The flight to Bozeman MT, in which I shared a seat next to a young college girl who did her best to mask the fear of flying. I recognized the uncomfortable nature of her fidgeting as similar to that of my 5 year old trying to sit through Sunday church meetings. It is the non-verbal language that screams, "I would rather be anywhere but here". Flights to Rapid City SD and Atlanta GA soon followed. However, the most uncomfortable and eerily memorable flight was to Las Vegas Nevada. 
I was flying Southwest, the friendly sky's, and was seated next to the friendliest old man. I was holding my breath as the aircraft loaded. The number of people crawling on the plane had slowed, and the seat between me and the gentleman on the aisle had yet to be filled. I long for these opportunities, where without paying the cost of 1st class I have the ability to trick myself into thinking I am 1st class. This can only happen when someone is not packed into the seat next to you. Could this be one of those flights where I get to close my eyes and enjoy the 1st class solitude on my journey from Boise to Las Vegas. Maybe I could go as far as to visualize myself a high roller on a plane of my own chartering... is that taking it too far? Too late, as I began my wishful thinking an elderly man stepped through the cabin door. His eyes nervously scanned the aisle numbers as he worked his way towards the back of the plane. Yes, it was him. My new partner in flight, the man who stole my dream of 1st class solitude. The only question I have, "are you going to remove that over sized coat before you squeeze into the seat next to me?". The answer, "NO" as he sat down next to me. Reality is I had a second question in mind, "who dressed you this morning for this flight to Vegas?". In his hunter orange John Deer ball cap slightly askew on his head. Gold jacket with a Vegas like sheen to it, lined with the heavy fur of some simulated animal hide. Maybe it was the way that these two articles of clothing matched the button down soft baby blue shirt, that no doubt was soaked with sweat by this time. If a man were trying to stand out in a crowd, mission accomplished.
I was flying Southwest, the friendly sky's, and was seated next to the friendliest old man. I was holding my breath as the aircraft loaded. The number of people crawling on the plane had slowed, and the seat between me and the gentleman on the aisle had yet to be filled. I long for these opportunities, where without paying the cost of 1st class I have the ability to trick myself into thinking I am 1st class. This can only happen when someone is not packed into the seat next to you. Could this be one of those flights where I get to close my eyes and enjoy the 1st class solitude on my journey from Boise to Las Vegas. Maybe I could go as far as to visualize myself a high roller on a plane of my own chartering... is that taking it too far? Too late, as I began my wishful thinking an elderly man stepped through the cabin door. His eyes nervously scanned the aisle numbers as he worked his way towards the back of the plane. Yes, it was him. My new partner in flight, the man who stole my dream of 1st class solitude. The only question I have, "are you going to remove that over sized coat before you squeeze into the seat next to me?". The answer, "NO" as he sat down next to me. Reality is I had a second question in mind, "who dressed you this morning for this flight to Vegas?". In his hunter orange John Deer ball cap slightly askew on his head. Gold jacket with a Vegas like sheen to it, lined with the heavy fur of some simulated animal hide. Maybe it was the way that these two articles of clothing matched the button down soft baby blue shirt, that no doubt was soaked with sweat by this time. If a man were trying to stand out in a crowd, mission accomplished.
Yet there was an innocent quality to him. He seemed genuinely nice, though we hadn't exchanged many words. I couldn't help but assist him after he fumbled around for his seat belt long enough to make both of us uncomfortable. That is what opened the door to conversation, a conversation that was primarily one sided and didn't end until we touched down in Las Vegas. When he spoke he had the unmistakable breath of an old man, stale and unpleasant. I spent most of the flight holding my breath and acting interested in the stories he shared. I learned all about his kids, career, trouble with neighbors, oh yes and his stolen truck that was parted out and found somewhere in California hence the flight he was taking today to retrieve what was left. I enjoyed my cramped flight with this man, as much as it could be enjoyed.
No this flight into Portland can't top that. though I am inspired by the grand view I see out my window. Mnt. St Helen's, Mnt. Adams, and Rainier in the background. The winding nature of the Columbia river down below. This is actually a pretty good start to a week of training in Portland.
Post Script - So as I took to leave the great city of Portland, I was greeted with stand still traffic waiting for the bridge to be opened. I don't think this trip to the airport is starting off in good fashion. It tells me that perhaps there is another story in my near future. It also leaves me with the assurance that I am not a "big city boy", and I am good with the fact that in a short couple of hours I will be back in Boise where I fit in.
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