The phrase is zero to one hundred just like that, but for me this week it was zero to a thousand miles per hour after a 224,000 pound 777 Boeing took off into the air for a 5 and a half hour flight to Newark, New Jersey. (Let's not even talk about Jersey. Not a fan. Got out as quick as possible.) But luckily on my way to Albany, New York on a small, what I would call, 'sardine can' propeller airplane, I met one of the nicest ladies you could find in Jersey, (Again, I really don't like Jersey) and her name was Kathy.

Kathy was in her early 50's and seemed pretty content with her life even as we're called over the intercom in the airport that our sardine can be delayed, because someone forgot to leave Syracuse on time which added 2 hours onto our 3 hour layover. (Was I happy? No. I had been up since 2am and it was 10pm, but thank you to the kind airport barista for my undertow) Kathy huffed about the delay and announced: "I'm walking to the bar if you guys want anything." By now we had a little band of people together since San Francisco and were all trying to get to Albany, so she spoke to us more like friends than strangers she had known for 12 hours and in 12 hours would forget about it completely. The next two hours drain on as I pace back and forth and finally at 9:15 we're told to start boarding. We all run down the hall, into the bus, escorted to our plane and run into our 'can'. As fate had it I was seat 8A (WINDOW SEAT THANK GOD) and Kathy was seat 8B. She smiled a familiar smile and sat down as I murmured "We're at the final leg. Here's the sprint!".

At this point there's probably around 40 of us packed into this small airplane with a crying baby in front and an over-exhausted flight attendant urging the older man behind me to "Please put your phone on airplane mode SIR, I NEED TO SEE THE AIRPLANE." So anyone who knows me, or has been in my presence in such situations, knows that I'm deathly..... deathly afraid of small spaces and overpacking of said spaces. Whether it's an elevator just a flight up to my hair salon, or a train in San Francisco full of drunk 20-somethings at Pride, my body just honestly cannot handle it. Some little man in my brain immediately slams his huge fist on the big red "Do not touch" self-destruct button and I immediately begin to hyperventilate and feel sick and have to either put my head in between my knees or need to be talked back to reality. I am well equipped with the self-defense phrase of "This is all temporary."

So enough about me, back to Kathy. You're probably asking yourself (if you're out there? Who are you? Do I even have readers?) Christopher why are you enthralled with this 'Kathy' person. Well Kathy and I sit down in our seats and begin the usual 'pre-airplane take off' chat and I slowly start to relax thanks to the presence of a human being interested in my well being, but then something starts to happen. Kathy and I start talking like we were raised in diapers together and were long lost friends separated by a few states. She dives into a speech about how much she dislikes the Bay Area and California and I rebuttal with my plans to go to Conservatory for Voice in Germany and she becomes in love with the idea and she tells me how she secretly plans to move back to Saratoga Springs and hasn't yet told her high school sweetheart boyfriend back at home (What can I say? She was a catch! He was lucky.) We go back and forth for the hour we had together and I spill secrets I hadn't told my best friend and she tells me things her adult daughter doesn't even know about yet. We then arrive at the Albany International Airport and as we leave we wish luck to each other on our travels and to good health for the future and a pang of guilt hits me. Did I really just tell my life story to a complete stranger and they to me? I barely met this woman a few hours ago and already felt close enough to call her the next day and ask her how her daughter was and if she had gone to the track!

This brings me to my point. This may be completely something strange I do and only I do, but do we all attach to people when we travel alone? Maybe it's a defense mechanism I have that helps me become de-stressed from the situation or as Kathy put it 'humanizing the situation and hoping the pilots are God himself.' I have found on many accounts that strangers that travel alone always seem to open up to each other, because they are lacking their traveling partner and therefore have no one to confide in when that turbulence in the air makes you a little weak in the stomach or 'that lady's shirt is on inside out and backwards' laugh you have in the middle of a busy airport.

Here's a question to my readers. Are we so busy hurrying from one gate in our life to the next that we miss out on all the faces and experiences around us? Have we become desensitized to almost everything that we hope we don't have to talk to people and can just stick to our thoughts in our heads? We probably pass hundreds of people a day and they become a blur in our brain to put to a crowd in a dream. These people have lives and children and problems as well that we will never know about that will come and go like ashes.

So here's a little advice to send with you that I got from both Kathy and my's experiences: Always greet someone with a smile and a "Hi, How are you doing today?", apologize for any inconvenience you give, SAY PLEASE, and always remember: these people are humans too, with human problems and worries just as much as yours. Treat them how you hope to be treated.