Humans, Winging it.

I was sitting in a narrow aisle seat at the back of the plane, deep in economy seating. Though to be fair, I had splashed out a reasonable amount by flying British Airways on a midday flight. 

That’s pretty opulent.

I like to think my days of 5am easy jet flights are behind me but I dare not speak too early on that one.

Robin had fallen asleep on my chest before take-off had even started. An impressive result, that may have looked effortless to the relieved passengers in my close proximity - was in fact the result of meticulous planning. 

Scheduling and planning your day around the naps of an infant is no easy feat.

I consider it up there with getting a degree.

But for a moment, to the passengers passing down the aisle, awestruck at my peaceful baby on this noisy plane - it looked effortless.

The truth was air travel with a baby had been humbling. About 3 hours before this point, I was walking through departures: a backpack on my back (and front), bumbag round my waist, car seat in one hand, buggy pushed with the other hand. Sweating. Stressed. Very off brand. A humbling moment in my independence journey. 

Usually I think my sense of relief for not needing any help, or my sense of achievement is enough to balance out the general difficulty and inconvenience of whatever I am trying to accomplish.

This time, that was not the case. I was fed up, tired and sure that if I ever flew solo with kids again: no expense would be spared to make it as easy as possible. In fact, even without any children - a cheeky upgrade wouldn’t go unnoticed.

An internal, monologue rolling over and over in my head - invisible to those around me. From the outside: a confident, possibly frequent flyer with a perfectly behaved baby boy.

The plane turned onto the main runway. A roar from the engine ignited beneath my feet as we started to gain speed.

Leaning into the aisle, I took a moment to notice all the faces dotted along the plane; I imagined what discord there might be between their plain expressions and their internal dialogue. I was suddenly very aware of everyone's shared human-ness in that moment.

I wasn’t terrified, no. But at least slightly uneasy hurtling down the runway about to take flight - flying as a concept yet to feel very natural to my wingless body. 

But humans have been flying for years now, I’ve flown lots of times - there is a consensus to play it cool. I looked around a last time at all the humans playing it cool: headphones, books, phones, asleep.

Hell, maybe some of these people actually feel really chilled. But maybe we are more connected than it might seem. 

We level out in the sky, the seatbelt sign disappears. A sense of relief seems to wash over the cabin slightly. Now, with a cherub snoring on my chest, I settled back down to write.

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The takeaway?

We're all just human, we're all winging it to some degree (excuse the pun) - even if we look like it may be otherwise.

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