I have a number of superstitions I engage in when flying; I won’t tell them to you, but I am confident that we will make it to our destination because of them.
Is it ok that I wanted to shout out, to those sitting in First Class just waiting to recline, « I dream of being you! » – or would that have been too forward?
There is already a man snoring when I reach my seat; how is that even possible?
This plane is so big: three seats, then four, followed by three. It’s bigger than the planes I’ve flown recently to Europe, and we are going only halfway across the country.
(Once, though, once: New York was shut down and my flight to Amsterdam had to leave from DC instead and – twist! – in order for him to go as planned, we had to drive to NY in the middle of the night to retrieve my brother and bring him back to DC. We wound up sitting in the middle of the middle section, just my brother and me, sandwiched between strangers we will never again see, and we were exhausted and thrilled and giddy and it was wonderful.)
It is a miracle – make no mistake – to be able to fly; to board a giant indescribable machine on one side of the country, take a brief nap and land in the middle; to nap again and be on the other side of such a vast presentation of land.
I know how lucky I am.
I know.
And my god, I am so grateful.
(Let’s just hope I can sleep.)
The Wandering Introvert 
I never can sleep on a plane. I try my hardest, but it rarely ever happens.
I understand that – I’m very envious whenever people can just conk out for the duration. I have a whole routine (involving wine, melatonin, and ear plugs) and still it doesn’t always work!