I just got home from a much needed weekend away. When I spend a few days away from the city, I always return in a much better frame of mind: batteries recharged, soul replenished, sanity restored.
While I'm away (and often even when I'm at home), there's nothing I enjoy more than a bit of people-watching. I've lost count of the hours I have spent watching people; simply observing people as they go about their lives. My favourites are those I see in airports.
I like to imagine their life stories. The lonely cowboy catching a flight to New York to see the big city & maybe meet a lady. The pensioner knitting scarves while she waits for her flight to Sydney to see her youngest grandson graduate. The recent divorcee heading to Wellington to meet her internet lover, giggling like a schoolgirl full of nerves and untapped hope.
Of all the people I saw this weekend, two married couples on my flight stuck with me. The first was a young inter-racial couple. The other couple were in their early 70s at least. The younger couple were seated in front of the older couple and I sat directly across the aisle from them - watching, taking mental notes like a stalker, thinking things way too deep for so early on a Friday morning.
Both wives were obviously fraught with nerves at flying but what interested me was the way in which their respective husbands comforted them.
The younger man put his arm around his wife in an awkward side-hug as she drew her knees up to her chest and shook violently at takeoff. She spent the rest of the flight with her head in her hands, pale as a ghost while he patted her shoulder with one hand and continued to finish his crossword with the other.
The older man however, feeling his wife's discomfort as we began takeoff, held his wife’s hand tightly, looked directly into her eyes and smiled reassuringly. Almost immediately she visibly relaxed, returned his smile and gave his hand a squeeze.
After takeoff, the elderly woman opened her eyes and the couple shared a smile - one I was sure portrayed a lifetime of secrets - squeezed each other’s hands one last time and then went about their separate in-flight business.
She stared out the window peering through the fog at the mountainous landscape pointing out things that interested her along the way. He picked up a thick novel and read, silently nodding at his wife’s commentary in all the right places.
There was something comforting about the easy, unassuming silence they shared. Something about what they didn’t say that told me all I needed to know about their lives: that come what may they had found contentment with one another and themselves. That their life together had been built on solid foundations. That he could say "I'm here for you" by simply holding her hand. That she could reply "I'm thankful I have you" with a smile.
That their love had seen and endured many things and still passed freely in the spaces between them.
My grandparents had that. My parents have that.
I hope one day when I’m old and wrinkly, I have it too.
Lesson Six: Sometimes all you need is someone to hold your hand.
Enjoy your Sunday x
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