I can't help but notice

I arrive at the airport in Denver, Colorado. I walk to the end of the TSA precheck line.

A woman comes up behind me. “This is TSA precheck? Are you kidding me?!”

I nod. “It’s always super long. But it always goes by quickly.”

I am trying to reassure her. She is dissatisfied.

We do indeed move through the line remarkably quickly.

On the other side of security, I wait for my carry-on and backpack. A man ahead of me hurriedly grabs his things out of the bin and starts to run off.

“Wait!!” I call out, and nearly grab his arm as he passes. Pointing to the conveyor belt, I say, “Don’t forget your phone and wallet!”

He runs back over, grabs them, and runs off.

Someone next to me says, “You just saved that guy’s life.”

“I’m just glad I saw it and caught him,” I reply. “That would have been a bad day.”

“I didn’t even hear him say thank you,” says the bystander.

I shrug. “I’m sure he was thankful. Seems like maybe he’s having a rough go of it this morning.”

---

It is barely 7 a.m. and I pass people drinking beer at the airport bar as I make my way to find coffee.

On my walk, I see a little girl, barely 3 years old, trotting through the airport with a big, soft, squishy stuffed elephant that is easily half her size. I muse over what the Most Important Things in her life must be at this sweet, tiny age. I bet the elephant is one of them.

I get my coffee and arrive at the gate just in time to board.

---

I always choose the aisle seat.

A woman approaches, saying, “I’m technically in that middle seat next to you, but I’m just gonna sit over here and wait it out because maybe there will be a whole row empty and I can just have it to myself.”

I nod. “Sounds good!” We have barely begun boarding and I marvel at the confidence with which she is going to test these waters.

She is now sitting on the other side of the aisle, carefully watching the passengers board, looking for signs and signals that one of them is coming for her current seat. A man walks by and says to her, “Nice hat!”

She cracks up and says, “So you know, then!”

As he continues walking by, she turns to me and loudly says, across the aisle, “My hat is a real if-you-know-you-know situation.”

I play my part in this unwritten script: “Oh! What does it mean?”

She turns to face me more squarely, showing me the inscription on her hat in gothic letters. DILLIGAF.

She sees the quizzical look on my face and explains, “It means — do I look like I give a f***.”

“Oh! Oh. Got it.”

I don’t know what else to say.

“So now you know!” she says with a cackle.

---

It almost seems she has it in the bag. But at the very last moment, three passengers board to take her entire row, and she ends up next to me after all. As she gets settled, she begins a talk-to-text.

“I’m boarded, baby. I love you so much. I love your big heart, your amazing consciousness, and let’s…”

She pauses. Looks at the phone.

“Conscious. Conscience. Con-science-ness. Con-scious-ness?!”

She is unsure, and so is talk-to-text. She lets out a loud exhale and types the word out.

And then continues the talk-to-text.

“…and let’s not forget your sexy ass.”

Another pause. A studying of the phone. A furrowing of the brow.

“SEXY.”

. . .

Louder: “SEX-Y!”

. . .

The loudest: “ASS!!!!”

I am biting the insides of my cheeks so hard. Why is no one here to experience this with me?!?!?!?!

This moment couldn’t be a more immediate indicator of the truth of her hat.

She turns to me and answers a question I didn’t ask: “That text wasn’t for my husband. It was for my lover.”

She settles back into her seat and pulls her hat down over her head as we ascend into the sky.

---

There is a man sitting across the aisle and one row ahead who is working feverishly in Photoshop on some label designs for sourdough bread. I can’t help but notice. The mockup of this packaged bread is so unusually vibrant and genuinely appetizing.

I have my own computer out, too. I intend to work. But I’m too distracted.

The man lifts out the image of the bread and starts editing it separately from its packaging. I can’t stop watching him as he makes the bread prettier. Meticulously adding scoring. Browning. Shading.

It looks so perfect for toasting. Good job, I think to myself, in praise of his work. I’d buy that bread.

As he edits, he occasionally checks his dating apps. I watch him scroll through a woman’s photos. He pauses on one in particular. Zooms in. Continues swiping.

Back to the computer. Sourdough sandwich time! says a menu design he’s now turned his attention to.

In his row, the woman at the window seat needs to get up. She half-stands to indicate her need. Bread Guy is visibly annoyed. He tries to just shift his body so she can climb over him. There’s a person in the middle seat too. It’s…not going to work.

With an overly dramatic, exasperated, irritated exhale, he finally stands up.

As he stands in the aisle, still stubbornly blocking anyone from leaving his row, the lady in the middle seat stretches her legs across both seats so she doesn’t have to get up, either.

Window Seat Woman inches past Middle Seat Lady, and as she tries to scootch past Bread Guy, she says to both of them, “I mean…………really?”

I have to bite my cheeks again when Window Seat Woman returns from the bathroom and loudly exclaims to her row, “Hey guys, I’m back!”

They begrudgingly get up again.

---

Once we land in New York City, my seatmate tells me to “spread the good word” about DILLIGAF. I don’t know how to tell her that I personally need, like…the exact opposite hat.

As I walk up the aisle, I hear the flight attendants telling each other what the rest of their work days hold. “I’ll be in Atlanta once this day is done,” says one. Another shares, “With any luck I’ll be back in my own bed tonight.”

As we deplane someone shouts, “Happy birthday!!” The quickly-emptying plane erupts in song. We have no idea whose birthday it is but someone yells a name in time for us to sing “happy birthday dear Chelsea, happy birthday to you!”

I peek into the cockpit as I leave the plane. And then I suddenly shout, “thank you for getting us safely here!!” It startles the captain, who half-turns around and gives a wave.

My shout surprised me as much as it did him. But it burst out of me in a moment where I was marveling at the fact that we don’t spent more time feeling absolutely incredulous and wildly grateful that these amazing human beings fly us into the air and then land us safely.

With the spontaneous shout in the past, and my cheeks bright red and hot to the touch, a quiet prayer of gratitude to this flight crew rests on my heart as I walk up the jetbridge.

I continue toward the exit, passing by so many people only just getting ready to board. I wonder if they’re leaving home or going home. I wonder if they’re traveling for work or pleasure. I wonder if they’re alone like me, or traveling with loved ones. I notice that I don’t remember the last time I traveled with a companion. I notice my own mind wonder, for far too long, about other people’s lives.

I shake it all off and chuckle at my silly, cluttered mind as I go down the escalator and walk outside. The cold air feels really good.

---

I cannot make sense of why all of this occupies my head and heart space so much, and I can make even less sense of why I feel called to write down the narrative of this somewhat unremarkable day, and the characters that made up its story

except

the world is on fire 
and there are so many enormous 
things  
and people  
to care for  
and protect  
and fight for
and still I cannot help but notice and adore 
people, whether steadfast friends or fleeting visitors
and moments, whether epic or ordinary
because the ordinary is what fills the space between the urgent 
and each person represents a whole entire universe
a whole entire ecosystem
and the sunset was breathtaking tonight
and my sweet old dog reminds me to get some fresh air
and I belly-laughed with my nephew for hours the other day
and someone in my apartment building just passed away
as another neighbor brings home a newborn baby
and the whispered reminders to lead with tenderness
come from everywhere
and I clumsily try to care for my own tender heart
and I count blessings as readily as I count struggles and losses
and I will insist on still seeing this broken world 
for the incredible miracle that it is
because
even after everything
and even during all this
the world insists 
on being immeasurably beautiful.