I stepped onto the plane knowing when I stepped off I’d lay foot upon the land of a foreign country for the first time in my life. Although I’d never heard of Reykjevik, Iceland, the destination of my layover to Dublin, apparently many other people had. The plane we boarded was huge; 40 rows back and counting. The place was filled to the brim for our five hour red eye flight over the Labrador Sea.
We took off 30 minutes late, but at the Newark airport that is considered to be just on time. A few minutes after our 9pm take off I gave up on my wildest dream of sleeping through the entire flight. A quick head swivel confirmed that I happened to be seated diagonally behind the only person on the 200+ person flight who felt the need to use the blinding overhead light to roast the top of her head, and by proximity cook my sizzling tear ducts.
I usually cannot sleep on airplanes. I’m way more likely to throw up in a vehicle than fall asleep. There’s that old Michael Scott quote that goes “You miss 100%” of the shots you don’t take —Wayne Gretsky”. So a few years back I decided to stop taking any shots at all at attempting to not throw up on a flight, and started slipping myself a mickey to knock myself out before the inevitable nausea struck.
Alas, not even the Nyquil I popped after boarding was enough to conjure a blade of sleep that could cut through that overhead light’s pervading glare. However, we’d just taken off and there was a chance the Nyquil hadn’t fully kicked in yet.
I’d learned the dangers of cooking up some ‘quil before boarding a flight at the Denver International airport a couple of years before.
Imagine you’re sitting across from a packed airport gate, and observe a girl in the corner pop Nyquil into her mouth about 30 minutes before the gate’s plane is supposed to board. Suddenly, a robotic voice sneers over the intercom that the flight to Philadelphia has been delayed 45 minutes because you decided to book the $40 red eye flight on Frontier bitch, so get fucked and just admit how stupid you are now because we’re going to flag your carry on bag for being an inch too big and charge you $300 to check it anyway.
You watch as the girl blearily (the ‘quil is hitting) looks at the ceiling as if to see if there really is a god, and decides there can’t be for her because she sold her soul to fly Frontier airlines for a cheap ride, and therefore a free metaphorical butt fucking guaranteed with every flight.
She sinks down on the floor and uses her duffle bag to cradle her head as she reclines back and closes her eyes. In seconds, she is asleep.
That girl was me, and you can probably surmise what happened next. It was either the sudden silence that woke me up, or a couple of rogue brain cells reminding my consciousness I was sleeping at the airport for a reason.
My eyes popped open as big as saucers to observe a sea of empty seats at the gate.
Still half asleep, I grabbed my bag and walked up to the check-in desk. It was a miracle; the plane door was still open.
“Wow, I thought you were waiting for another flight,” the ticket scanner fella said. “You’re wild for that, the doors are closing in literally less than a minute.”
I mumbled something in return that I was not wild and living on the edge, but just on high amounts of ‘quil.
I stumbled to my seat 29 rows back to fall immediately back asleep, after briefly reflecting upon how close I’d come to waking up the next morning still in Denver rather than Philadelphia.
Back on Iceland Air the lady under the spotlight in front of me turned her seat’s iPad on to watch a movie.
Sweet, I thought.
Surely she’d turn the light off if she were watching a bright screen.
Then I watched in horror as she pulled a ball of yarn and knitting needles out of her bag. The light remained on.
The only logical answer was to equip myself with more ammunition. I popped another Nyquil down my gullet, and welcomed my arrival to the moonlit bridge between consciousness and slumber.
The kid in front of me tilted her seat so far back I was practically chewing on my knee caps. I tried to tilt my seat back. It was broken and wouldn’t budge.
By this point all of the ‘quil was catching up to me, but I was so physically uncomfortable there was no chance of sleep. I let my eyes rest in a half closed, glazed over stupor as they laid upon the screen of the knitting lady watching the movie diagonally in front of me.
That’s when I saw Napoleon Dynamite. No, it wasn’t the blonde curly haired, sultry chapstick lipped, Jeffrey Dahmer glasses wearing guy from one of my favorite movies. This guy had brown hair, a squinty gaze, a cheesy smile, and a beard.The guy was Jon Heder, who played Napoleon in Napoleon Dynamite, but he looked strange since I’d only seen him in Napolean-esque duds.
I ended up watching the entire movie over the knitting lady’s shoulder. She had her headphones in, but I got the gist of the story. It was a shitty movie because I could predict what happened next even without being able to hear anything.
“Obviously that guy got her pregnant,” I whispered to my neighbor sitting next to me, but she was fast asleep.
(It turned out this movie was one of two films made in 2021 called “Plan B”. The one I saw was the less successful of the two, as the other “Plan B” movie had J. Lo leading the cast. Personally, I’d rather watch Jon Heder anyday.)
In the middle of the movie the screen paused, and a flight attendant announced that if we looked out the window we could see the Northern Lights. I’d never been more delighted to have the window seat.
Finally glad I wasn’t asleep, I pressed my nose to the window and watched the green lights wave and fan themselves in an eternal dance in the distance. It lasted 3 minutes, and it felt like both seconds and years.
I ended up conking out shortly after the closing credits of the movie rolled, and awoke a couple hours later to the sound of the pilot’s voice announcing our approaching descent into Iceland.
I sat up from my slouched position, and noticed the man sitting next to me intently studying the arrow of a compass he held in his hand.
I observed him watch the compass’ hand waver. I leaned in toward him.
“Are we going the right way?” I was tired, cranky, and in the mood to receive a snarky response.
“I am,” he said without breaking concentration.
I leaned back. Was I not going the right way? I closed my eyes and took inventory of my life.
A week ago I was flying from Colorado to Philadelphia and had a major problem. I’d bought half a gram of ketamine a couple weeks before and only had three days to get rid of it. I’d have a bigger problem if I tried to smuggle it onto Frontier airlines.
So I decided the only logical explanation was to smuggle it through my nostrils. I planned for this operation to take three days, and completed it in two.
I hope my mom doesn’t read this, but if she does, Mom I assure you it was a great time and I truly have no desire to do that much ketamine in that short of a time period again.
Besides, a compass doesn’t bother with the past.
My life has recently been what some would consider an inspiring Marco Polo-esque adventure, and others would call a complete and utter mess. I am no longer in school, in between jobs, and tanking my savings on traveling everywhere from Colorado to Croatia. I currently consider my main past times to be flying by the seat of my pants and figuring it out.
Some days I absolutely love flying by the seat of my pants. I can wake up and go anywhere and be anything. There are so many things I’m curious about and want to learn and see and write about. It’s exciting to leave the comforts of home and explore.
Yet some days I wake up and just want to have it all figured out, but what does that even mean? A cacophony of voices in the back of my head are telling me I need to live life a certain way; I need to work the same job for 20 years and build a career and settle down right this instant, and give up on my childish dreams of adventure and creative endeavors. Society screams at you everyday, figure it all out, and figure it out now.
But we won’t ever have it figured out. Isn’t that the point of it all?
Later on in the Reykjavik Airport, I got my answer. Waiting to board the flight to Dublin, I sat across from three men chatting in Irish accents about a soccer game one of them was streaming for them all to watch on his phone. At one point their team scored, and they all jumped up at the same time and cheered.
“This is why we work!” The middle one cried. “To enjoy moments such as these.”
I thought of my friends back home in Jersey and Colorado, and the friends meeting me in Dublin in a few days.
As I watched the men sit back down and huddle together to watch the game, I rested my head back and thought of the miles of travel ahead and where it would take me.
And I knew I was going the right way.
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