365 Days Of Love. Day 12

I flew for the first time when I was 18. I graduated high school early, but returned home to walk with my class on graduation day. Right after the ceremony, my parents took me to the nearest airport, an hour away from our house, and I departed to Missouri for staff orientation at a summer camp I would be working at later that summer. I had one layover in Memphis and arrived safely in Missouri just a few hours after I had departed South Dakota.

The second time I flew, I went to Israel. By myself. I was 18, a rookie flyer, and traveling to another country, not having any idea as to who I would be looking for once I got to the Holy Land. I had a seven-hour flight from DC to Frankfurt in which I was seated next to a retired Air Force pilot. He wouldn’t be continuing to Tel Aviv with me, but he had shared stories of his many trips there. As he prepped me about all I should expect in the Israeli airport, I absorbed his words like a sponge. He told me there would be soldiers lining greeting me upon landing and English directions would follow after Hebrew and Arabic, respectively. He praised the Israeli people, encouraging me to seek their help if I felt lost en route to baggage claim. I’m not sure we slept the entire red eye flight, our conversation ceased only when we were served breakfast early the next morning. After de-planeing, he wished me well and left me with one command, “be safe, but don’t be scared.”

I saw this man one more time, per my meandering the Frankfurt airport. He smiled, and that was it.

I arrived in Israel safely and like the pilot suggested I would, easily made my way to baggage claim, and by some Universal gift, immediately made eye contact with the people who I would be staying with during my two-week stay. I was safe, but never scared. Each time I fly, I imagine myself sharing a row with that pilot, I carry his wisdom with me.

I have no idea why this pilot chose to initiate conversation with me, but I’m indebted to him for it. I’m sure my 18 –year-old-self looked clueless and immature, nervous and ill-suited to be traveling solo. Regardless, this pilot immediately treated me as a friend, a granddaughter, a person. He cared about me, not because anything was in it for him, but simply because he cared. He shared his story with me, which in turn, authored my own story, for a time.

This stranger taught me that loving is caring, without expectation.