A few years ago I was on a flight (TBH I don’t recall where I was going or coming from) and I was seated on a three person row with me being in the dreaded middle seat (sigh). My plan, as is often the case, was to say polite hellos to my seatmates and then to put on my headphones, read whatever was on my Kindle and to essentially keep to myself (hoping that no one would strike up a forced conversation) for the entire flight. The message I was trying to send: I’m polite, but please don’t bother me for the rest of this flight. Thank you very much. 

Anyway, my row mates arrived and somewhat followed my same blueprint. In the window seat on my right, was a pretty woman of East Indian descent, in her late forties or early fifties, dressed in a navy pantsuit with a head full of thick, gorgeous, jet black hair. On my left, in the aisle seat was a middle-aged white woman, sturdy built with a sensible blonde bob, flushed, full cheeks and true to form, she wore a cute, comfy gray sweat suit.

We all sat quietly as our flight got underway. And all was going according to plan … until we hit a bit of turbulence. After a few uncomfortable minutes of turbulence and everyone starting to feel a bit uneasy, we started to make small comments to each other. Things like, “Ok, that was scary.” and “Oh my … (nervous laugh.)” And so on.

Finally, Window Seat started the conversation. She told us that she lived in India and was a technology executive at the massive financial services company, UBS (I got the distinct feeling that this woman was a boss).  She said that she, her husband and her son had lived in the United States but that they had returned to India years earlier because they felt that their young son was losing his appreciation for their culture. She said she and her husband wanted him to grow up around people that looked like him, hoping that that would instill in him some love for where he came from. She said she also wanted him to develop strong relationships with his extended family while he was young.

Suddenly, she began to cry softly and it was then that she explained that she was on the flight because she had just dropped her son off at college (Purdue) and that she was headed to New Jersey for a business meeting. After that meeting she would be headed back home to India. She said that she was already missing her baby. He had decided that he wanted to attend college in the U.S. and would head back to India after graduation. We comforted her until she stopped crying and then Aisle Seat said that her husband had graduated from Purdue and that she had lived in Austin, Texas her entire life. She said she and had three kids that were all in college at the same time (all great schools). She said that she and her husband were empty nesters for the first time and how scary that felt.

She talked about how she had been a successful attorney years before but had cut her hours to work part time because she felt that she wasn’t spending enough time with her family. She was still working part time and she said she had been thinking a lot about the next stage of her life. She said that she didn’t know who she was anymore. We took a minute and comforted her.

I guess it was my turn. I joined in and started talking about the time I had spent in Texas growing up and we started talking about my position at HBO and then I shared with them that my son, Carson was starting high school and that his father and I had made the decision for him to live in Atlanta with his father during his high school years. I told them how hard it was to make that decision and the guilt I often felt and how I grieved every time I left him. They then took some time and comforted me.

By the time we landed, we had had more meaningful conversations than I had had in a long time. We laughed and we cried. It was so interesting how our commonalities were organically threaded throughout our conversation. It wasn’t forced, difficult or strained. We comforted each other. We were all mothers who had completely different experiences, paths and lives who made deep sacrifices for our children. I don’t recall those women’s names. I wouldn’t recognize them again if I saw them. We parted at baggage claim and kept moving on our respective paths in life. I only thought of them again as I started writing this post. My lesson … don’t close yourself off to love. You never know where you will get the compassion or support you need – even if you don’t know that you need it. Love comes in unexpected forms and places. Be open to it.