It was the last few calls before the plane would depart, leaving Seattle for Irvine, and the engine slowly rumbled as drops of rain dripped from grey clouds down my window. While I had been engrossed in my latest read, I noticed from my peripheral glances that the girl seated next to me had already frequented the bathroom four times. When she returned once more, I saw her eyes drenched and reddened, face flushed with despair. I did not know her name, who she was, or why she was crying — but an instant wave of sadness flooded me, growing disheartened at the sight of such misery.

Having asked the gentleman in the aisle seat to get up once more, the girl took her seat in the middle and turned to me. "I'm so sorry," she barely whispered, "my dad died yesterday." Upon hearing these words, I did not know what to do. I had no idea how to comfort her, what to say, whether she wanted a long hug or the gettysburg of comfort. She instantly shattered my careful identity of the quiet traveler, one excitingly homebound, and replaced those broken shards with the knowledge that I would now have a direct impact on her present state and was obliged to aid her in healing.

In the Communications course I am currently taking, we discussed empathy and the effective ways to express it. Rather than offering the girl advice or some personal anecdote that would not fully relate to her extensive grief, I asked some clarifying questions that helped me better understand her situation. With some information gained, I then began to console her, listening to long-winded bursts of cries that would transpire every few minutes, absent of any judgment. I made sure not to just resort to generic statements like "it will get better" or "it's going to be okay," as I knew these hasty and inconsiderate remarks to offer little relief. I did my best in juggling around different mediums of comfort that I molded to her preferences, from active listening to some small kind remarks, and would assess the genuinity of my comments on the basis of what I would want to hear.

I told her to allow herself to cry and that this period of time in her life would be one of the most difficult. I told her to cherish the memories she has had with her dad, rather than completely cursing her future without him. I told her that she was loved and would be supported throughout the entirety of dealing with this hardship.

After around thirty minutes of talking, she decidedly began to watch Bohemian Rhapsody on the monitor in front of her, healthily distracted by Freddie Mercury's infectious charm. I was relieved to return to my former state of isolated and precious air time life, but also knew that it was these instances of humanity that could truly better the world.

As individuals we often consider ourselves to be empathetic, but apart from feeling its emotion we do not know how to convey it to others who truly need it. We tend to create all these obscure reasons why expressing some form of vulnerability would result in something drastic, electing to remain within our own sphere of comfortability. I was wary at first that the girl had to be several years older than me, making me feel less qualified to connect with her, but as we began to talk I recognized how universal emotions are -- especially pain. I realized the importance of flexible boundaries and that suspending prior perceptions is necessary for you to share your human with someone struggling to mend their own.