Opening Locked Doors
Below, a vignette that is a cheerier perspective on airplane travel. And it all relates back to being open to connect with people. This little pearl about knocked me over. I am still circling around the outcome because of course, as life would have it, other pearls have sprung up leading me in a different direction. This story needs to be told though. I haven't quite figured out how to make it a pleasurable pause…
One good thing about airplane pillows…they are perfect face shields when one has absolutely mortified oneself on a flight. Which I just recently discovered, I’m chagrined to say. I’ve labeled this humbling trip my Incredible Journey Home, Part One and Part Two.
PART ONE
The flight from Raleigh Durham, North Carolina to Atlanta can go by in a blink. A mere fifty –seven minutes from wheels up to touch down. I was leaving a brilliant North Carolina spring day to head back to Wisconsin which was still under winter’s relentless grip. (We actually call the late season antics of winter blocking spring’s progress, Sprinter.) My seat mate in 2A engaged briefly as we settled in, sharing a lament of leaving such a beautiful blooming landscape. It is typically clear to me whether my mantra of ‘choosing to connect’ while traveling will be stymied or embraced on a flight. I am good either way, but if offered the opportunity will forge ahead in light conversation to see if something of interest unfolds. In this case, it did. Mightily.
I discovered my neighbor had ties to Wisconsin via a shared lake home property in the Northwoods owned by her husband’s family. (The Northwoods is Wisconsin’s northern region featuring pristine lakes and long rows of pine forests.) She described the difficulty in scheduling visits there from her home in Connecticut and commented on her 100 year-old mother-in-law’s desire to keep family lake traditions alive. Not easy in today’s world of expanded and spread out families. This comment offered me a perfect segue to share a screen shot of my book, Come To The Lake: Reflections On A Cottage Life which documents our own lake traditions spending summers in an authentic 1920’s lake cottage. She immediately pulled my book up on Amazon and ordered a copy. Our conversation continued with me mostly talking about my self-publishing journey. I mentioned my IPPY awards, and joked about my ‘upside-down’ business plan with my book costing me more to produce then I can sell it for, my joy in the production process and ultimately touched on my upcoming Chamonix writing program. At one point when I talked about self-publishing, she asked how many copies of each book I printed (1,000 first book, 1500 second book) and nicely commiserated, “That’s a lot of books to sell!” as I lightly bemoaned the challenges of self-promotion.
She then began to ask very informed questions regarding the Chamonix program, talking about Point of View, and asked whether either of the authors leading the program wrote historical fiction. Finally, I turned the tables. I asked, noting her pointed questions, if she had a writing background. It was then that she quietly informed me, “Yes, I write historical fiction. My first book I wrote is called “The Lilac Girls.” Enter pillow covering my face. The Lilac Girls, having sold over one million copies, is a phenomenal book that I keep by my bedside. Her second book “Lost Roses’ was at that moment reaching number three on the New York Times Best Seller List. This women in 2A, whose name I can now reveal as Martha, is a personal hero whose own journey as author was somewhat accidental. She didn’t ever plan to write a novel, she just discovered a moment in history that she was compelled to research and share.
As we discussed historical fiction, I mentioned a story that jumped out at me in our community cemetery which is blocks from our house, a great place to walk and is where our boys learned to ride bikes. On one of those ‘practice’ days, I discovered a large, four-sided tombstone where five of the names listed had all died on the same day in 1903. I was curious about their fate and while searching through newspaper archives, discovered they were victims of the devastating Iroquois Theater fire. I actually went to the Chicago Historical Society and researched the fire, composed a significant file and set it aside for twenty years as a possible writing project. One of the searing details of the fire was that nine hundred people perished due to locked exit doors, totally unnecessary deaths that could have easily been prevented.
Martha informed me that my next writing project is indeed an historical novel and it is what I should be focusing my efforts on in Chamonix. She then gave me a speed ‘Masters Class’ in novel writing, listed writing books for me to read and even provided me with her email address in case I wanted to reach out to her. Beyond generous, beyond kind…I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. I walked off that plane inspired, invigorated and absolutely stunned.
PART TWO
I also was exhausted most likely due to an adrenaline rush from our conversation, so looked forward to being quiet and just simmering on the last leg of my journey home. As I approached my seat I noticed my new 2A seatmate was already settled in. An elderly gentleman, who very sweetly extended his hand across the arm rest to me as I sat down and simply said, “Hi, I’m Dave”. And then we were off…dang that connection mantra!
Our conversation touched on his family visit to Florida, the recent loss of his wife of sixty years and his past professional life…pretty basic stuff. I then asked him about his adult children and where they lived and he informed me his youngest daughter was in California. He then very quietly began to talk of Nancy, his oldest daughter, who married a professor from Washington DC. He went on to describe that Nancy, her husband and ten year-old son were visiting Paris and the hotel they were staying in had a fire… the three of them perished of smoke inhalation due to the fact that the exit doors of their hotel were locked and they could not get out.
Our ‘basic stuff’ conversation transformed immediately. We delved into a deep, genuine discourse on learning to trust happiness after loss (a constant challenge for me), and also remarked how lovely it was that we chose to connect while those around us were encased in earbuds and screens. At one point Dave exclaimed how lucky it was that we shared laughter together. I once again found myself deplaning in absolute shock.
When the universe talks, one must listen. I now have a new craft to learn, a new purpose to my days and a renewed appreciation of the value in making a choice to connect instead of focusing singularly as we travel our respective paths. Thank you Martha and Dave for my incredible journey home.