One year ago this week, I became a published writer for the first time. Fear motivated me to write a personal narrative surrounding my experience as a flight attendant at the height of the pandemic. In a month, I watched everything I knew as normal crumble in front of my eyes. I feared everything and everyone. I was terrified for my health and safety, yes. But first and foremost, I was overwhelmingly terrified for the economy and the prosperity of everyone whose jobs were being affected by this unseeable enemy. It was incredible to write something about my experience and have it published. It was even more incredible to have strangers from around the world reach out and thank me for sharing my experience. In the months following my article getting published, several people reached out and asked me to write a follow-up piece. I have sat down many times to write something, but I’ve never submitted or posted a response because I have found myself saying things that would put me at risk of losing my job. A year later, I’m vaccinated, full of gratitude for that, and I feel that both have given me some perspective and kinder words.
What a year it has been. From empty flights to empty middle seats, to full in just under six months. Meanwhile, Chicago and many other places were still banning indoor dining. Less than six months into the world turning upside down, I was working full planes in every direction. The first time I set foot on a full airplane without a vaccine, I thought I would have a panic attack. I’m not prone to panic attacks in normal times, but combine mask-restricted breathing and anxiety surrounding bringing home something unwanted to my loved ones, it was all too much. My entire face, neck, and arms were covered in hives. It was unnerving to feel uncomfortable in my work, especially after 14 years of loving my career so much. I no longer have hives, but I do find myself chanting the words to the prayer of St. Francis as I walk from my car to the concourse. “O Divine Master, grant that I may not seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood, as to understand, to be loved as to love…”
Losing faith in humanity has been a punch to the gut. I used to believe my passengers were the best around — now I’m looking for understanding as I see people sans mask, slowly putting popcorn in their mouths to avoid having to comply. “I’m eating a snack. I’m having a drink.” Look, I don’t like it either — but there are rules for a reason. I learned years ago not to take the acts of others personally, but over the last year, I’ve had to do a lot of work to not let myself get beat down by what has seemed like a large lack of compassion.
On occasion, I stand in my galley and use my eyes to make contact with people who are coming on board. They can’t see me smile, which means they can’t see me frown either. Deep down inside I hope that every person who comes on board will see me searching for hope in their eyes and someone who might appreciate my compliment of their outfit or their mask. I keep trying. It is hard, but I keep trying. Years ago, I started saying on my departure PA, “Although it’s nice to be important — it’s more important to be nice.” I continue to share this with my passengers, but truly, I say it to remind myself because I know better.
I often laugh at how many idioms have applied to the last year's dumpster fire. “Hurt people, hurt people”, “Weather the storm”, “You can lead a horse to water…” The list goes on and on. 75% of the time — I want to stand in my galley and scream. You’ve seen the videos of the horrendous behavior we’ve had to endure. I won’t regale you with my stories of non-compliance. I’ll just say that it is incredibly baffling to most of us flight attendants that we are still telling having to tell people to wear their masks over their noses. It has been a year. The eye-rolls and the responses are painful to bear. At least one night a week, I secure myself in my hotel room and have a good cry. The relentless reminders and the ways that we have to ask people over and over again to be better are discouraging, to say the least. It has encouraged me to seek a way out because I don’t know how I will shake this year out of my bones when it’s over. I hope I can, but I’m not sure I will.
And yet — there are gifts. This job has allowed me to travel, while all my friends have been stuck in their homes, working in front of a computer. They’ve been working hard at not imploding their relationships, their marriages. When things are near imploding levels in my house, I get to leave. In the dead of Chicago winter, I was able to get a tan. The number one thing I’ve done that has helped me not lose my mind, is taking off my shoes and walking barefoot on concrete or in the grass on warm overnights. I bring my yoga mat and lay on my hotel rooms' floor and count my breath to focus on gratitude. It has been hard, but I am okay.
A year later — I’m vaccinated. Now many of you are getting there too. There is so much to look forward to. Traveling, without feeling guilty for doing so. Hugging our friends, holding babies. One glorious day there will be headlines that masks are no longer necessary and my smile will beam from here all the way to Australia. I can’t wait to stop policing you, I can’t wait to stop being angry when I see your nose, I can’t wait to serve you a Bloody Mary, and see your frowns when we are delayed. For now, I will keep chanting St. Francis’s prayer and asking for the gift of patience every morning when I wake up.
I swear. I’m looking forward to seeing your smiles soon.
