Layback

Is comfort (and sense) possible in accelerated times?

I have recently spent more time in planes than I appreciate to admit. The (lucky) and unfortunate reality of moving abroad is that your loved ones will unlikely come with you, and as it turns out, visits from them will be few and far between, because, personal responsibilities—work, pets, caretaking, and in extreme cases, global pandemics—occupy the bulk of our modern lives. Unfettered free time turns out to be more of a mirage for many of us, and I suppose that much more precious when you experience it. Tie-in the irony of the necessitated vacation required after going on “vacation”, it becomes more clear that travel is absolutely a luxury—a miraculous time machine that catapults us in record-time to various corners of the world. Yet, it’s also fascinating to me how much of a chore it’s become: the airport prep, the monotonous lines at the same internationally branded coffee shop, the horseshoe pillows (I still don’t have one—do I need one?), the perfume counters. It seems airports have replaced shopping malls in popularity, to a certain extent, and our existence within them might outnumber our previous mallrat outings.

What I’ve been thinking about—or rather what the body has been forcing me to reckon with—is what is the whiplash of such speed and efficiency? What do we gain when we force ourselves to jet propulsion through time—or tasks, and what sacrifices do we subject ourselves to, when on the outside we seem to be moving faster…but are we really slowing down progress? The response in my recent case was a week of disturbed sleep, headaches, some confusion and irritability; it even threw-off my my menstrual cycle, a clear biological marker than something had shifted internally. The experience mimicked the sensation I felt when I watched a nearby passenger manually swing an analog watch forward and back, and then forward again until they were sure or content of its representation, or even dumbfounded by its new appearance. There’s a familiar, unsettling, sinking feeling of recognising that even if you will see someone, or some city, or monument that will light up your life on the other end of the plane ride, you know deep down you will feel a level of exhaustion from this real-world experiment of “re-engineering time”. Marvelling and perturbed in the same long sigh as you tuck into your economy seats, which will be first?—the nudge of the drinks cart brushing your elbow, the :polite: gesture of rising to be let through, or to let your aisle-mates up to use the bathroom (while watching the gymnastics some people pull off to jump over, under, or shimmy past others), or perhaps the sudden shudder that jolts you awake from the overhead announcement, that was perfectly set for the movie’s volume, but noticeably many decibels higher for the cabin crews’ megaphone.

In my 9 days of readjustment, I haven’t come across (m)any answers; I can’t tell you if the panacea is more water, 20 minute naps, scheduled sleep, melatonin tablets, or weighted blankets to ground you (although I should have tried that!), to cure discombobulated bodies and minds. Nor can I say when I will have to go through this again (often life chooses the moments, and then budgets decide what is possible), but one thing I can apply with certainty: an assured way of getting someone to roll their eyes is undoubtedly reclining back the seat in-front of them. I’m not a proponent of making others’ lives miserable, but I do find it interesting that we humans still find so much indignation in an action—that we all (non-first class passengers that is) know is likely to happen, and it’s literally built into (almost all) transportation-seat functionality—and yet, when it happens to us, we feel like we’ve been handed the short-end of the stick.

So maybe the response is not, how do I get back at “the man” (the airline, or the passenger in front of me), by returning the action in a domino effect, but how do I reset myself to comfort sooner? How do I bounce back from bouts of tiredness, anger, sadness, uncomfortableness? If I find the answer—outside of more doses of homemade brownies—I’ll share with you. But for now, this wknd, it’s 6pm and I want a coffee.