I flew to Palm Springs yesterday for work. As I left home in the morning, it was raining and the roads were crammed with commuters. I was almost late for my flight and I was soaking wet because I had to walk really far from my parking space to the shuttle.

Needless to say, my attitude was not the best by the time I got through security. I hate leaving my family for travel but I don’t have to do it that often so I try really hard not to freak out about it. Today I wasn’t managing so well. I was missing my boys and feeling distracted by some big decisions I am currently wrestling with. I sat down at the gate to wait for boarding and looked around at my fellow passengers.  I hate flying. I always check out who might be meeting Jesus with me on this fine day, should the plane explode. I have issues.

I notice at this point that the plane I am boarding has propellers. This bothers me for some reason I can not explain in any rational mechanical way, it just seems more dangerous.

Anyway, I call a friend of mine who knows that I hate to fly and I leave a voicemail message about the plane having propellers and the preponderance of elderly people on the flight. I joked that this didn’t seem to bode well for my survival chances, given that 80% of the passengers were in the “oh well, he/she lived a full life” category.

So between the stress of my morning commute and the anxiety over the impending plane crash, I was pretty worked up. As I board the plane, I notice that I have a seat mate who is, maybe the oldest person on the whole flight.  Her face was rimmed with age and her movements were slower, more calculated than mine. She asked that I get the blanket down for her from the overhead compartment and I, of course, comply.

I am still so caught up in my own world at this point that I am oblivious to her warm smile and lively eyes. If I would have paid attention, I might have noticed more quickly how much she was desiring conversation with another person. It wouldn’t be until after the flight was over that I would wonder how on earth I didn’t immediately see her dynamic personality, even behind all those years.

I would quickly learn the following things:

Her name is Edith and she is from Southern California. She has two children and only one grandchild. She was born in 1926 and she would like to vote for Hillary, although she is concerned that the rest of the world isn’t ready for a woman President.  She raised her children in Europe, as her husband was in the Air Force and later the Civil Service. Her son was a CIA agent for a time after serving in Desert Storm. Her grandson is lazy and he lives with her. He has too many computers and stuff all over the house and he likes to eat frozen chimichangas. She wished he would eat her roast instead. She makes a really great roast.

Edith is amazing. She is 84 years young and her brain clearly hasn’t slowed even though her body has. She tells me tales of France and Germany and of vacationing on the coast of Spain. She says that she was one of few military wives who chose to work outside the home. Even though she wished she could’ve spent more time with her kids, she felt an obligation to work, simply because she could and it wasn’t an opportunity the world afforded her mother. She wanted to take advantage of her freedom to be a whole person.

We talk about children and jobs and family. I show her pictures of my kids and she declares that if she lived next door to me, I would have to beat her off with a stick to keep her from coming to spend time with them. We also talk about her life in Paris and Luxembourg and how they had enough money for a butler. Her eyes gleam with excitement as she recalls those times.

She seems lonely and unchallenged now. Clearly her mind is still so nimble, it seems unfair to keep this woman from the work world. She offers me great advice on life and work - she is patient with my lamenting about certain life decisions I may have to make soon.

As the plane ride gets bumpy with turbulence I start to wince and squirm in my seat. She notices that I am bothered by the bumps and purposely tries to keep me entertained so that I don’t notice the movement. Edith is so bright and lively and encouraging. She gives me the gift of perspective. She offers advice on everything from getting Joshua to sleep through the night to career decisions.

As the plane starts to loose altitude and prepare for landing I am already dreading saying goodbye to Edith. As I leave, I feel as though I should hug her because she has had such a profound impact on me.

The plane pulls up to the terminal and we de-plane outside in the warm desert sun. I meet up with some of the people I work with in the airport. I immediately put on my work “face” and begin chatting these people up about our industry. We head to the rental car and I get situated in the back seat. Just as I do, I look over and see Edith waiting for her grandson at the curb. I wave and smile one last time and so does she.  As we drive away I am compelled by how much I would rather be headed to her house for roast than on my way to this conference.

Edith reminded me that life may be made up of a series of mundane days strung together but the importance is the totality of your experience. What we really should be aiming for is the the summation of all of those mundane days to be a picture of grace, love and success

Wherever you are Edith, thank you for sharing with me. You are a testament to the independence and spirit of your generation. You have inspired me to think of not just what I want to do with my life 5 years from now but who I want to be 50 years from now. I hope that I am on a plane, 50 years from now and get the chance to tell some busy body 30 year old woman what life is really about.

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