The Midwest, or "Business or Pleasure?"

Last week, I flew back to Ohio to visit my parents.  I grew up in the midwest, and live there for the first thirty-five years of my life.  For the past ten, I've lived in Seattle.

On the plane to Ohio, I noticed how friendly people were.  I hated it.  Was I becoming a misanthrope?

The guy next to me on the flight kept looking at me like he wanted to talk, but I didn't give him an opening.  I cracked open my 770+ page copy of The Goldfinch so he wouldn't try to engage me.  I wasn't even sure I wanted to read.  I mostly wanted to stare stupidly out the window.  When I started to stretch to turn on the overhead light, the guy next to me turned it on.  I was annoyed.  Maybe he was lonely.  I didn't care.  I didn't want to talk to him.  He didn't look awful or anything.  I was just not in the mood to chat.  The nicer he tried to be, the worse I felt for being standoffish.

I didn't want to be asked the most obvious questions to ask the person sitting next to you on an airplane: Business or pleasure?  Neither.  Where are you going and why?  I am going home to visit my mom before she forgets who I am.  Eh.  What a downer.  I wouldn't want to talk to me.  I wonder what my in-laws said when they were traveling to Chicago years ago to attend my daughter's funeral.  "Our baby granddaughter died."  It would have been the truth, tragic as it was.  I could have lied, I suppose.  After a long day of travel, I didn't feel like playing cheerful.

On the way back to Seattle, I sat next to an equally affable man.  He was wearing a fancy watch and a shirt from a fancy golf tournament, clearly traveling for business.  Instead of burying my nose in my book, I let him say hello.  I don't remember what I said, but I remember his story.  He was flying from Columbus to Minneapolis to Paris to St. Petersburg.  He had 45 minutes to make his connection, and our plane was late.  I was more worried about him making his flight than he was.

Maybe I am not a misanthrope after all.