The beginning...

I am sound asleep when the blaring tone of my hotel room’s telephone manages to not only give me a minor heart attack, but also becomes an instant and solemn reminder of the fact that it is 3:30 in the morning and it’s time to go to work.  Without my saying a word, the automated voice on the other line cheerfully wishes me, “Good morning!” and goes on to assure me that “It’s a beautiful day out there today!”  Naturally, my first instinct is to scream some combination of expletives and throw the phone against the wall.  When the back-up alarm I set on my iPhone goes off two minutes later, I get dangerously close to actually doing it. 

The truth of the matter is that I live, breathe, eat and experience stupidity on a daily basis.  Every flight attendant does and it’s what makes that 3:30am phone call even more brutal; it’s a disappointment akin to realizing that you’ve made it all the way home from the Chinese restaurant with someone else’s takeout and heaven only knows that shrimp Lo Mein was the last thing you wanted.  Stupidity cuddles up to me like a warm comforter in the dead of the New England winter.  It sneaks up on me like the hangover I’ll inevitably get from that extra vodka drink I really didn’t need last night, but took anyway because it was a stressful day and the Captain was buying.

Let’s be clear; while there is a copious amount of entertainment value in much of what we see as flight attendants, my experience has shown me that despite what we perceive as hilarity, we are really only giggling because had we not laughed, we’d probably cry.  Bawl, actually. There are tremendous rewards that come with being an ambassador of the skies, but not without an all-too-frequent reminder that the world is a very imperfect place.  I do believe it’s true that imperfection can be a beautiful thing, but it becomes shockingly less so when you are hurdling through the air in a pressurized soda can filled with worn seats that reek of beer farts and old lady perfume.

As you can imagine, it becomes very easy to complain.  In fact, I’ve become quite good at it myself.  I am fairly certain that if complaining were to become an Olympic sport, I’d medal without much effort.  I certainly wouldn’t need to train, I could still eat whatever I wanted and I wouldn’t need to worry about how dashing I’d look in a skimpy red, white and blue Speedo.   Seeing as how that probably won’t happen in time for Rio 2016, what I’ve come to realize instead is that my complaining is actually a sign that I have reached a very crucial crossroads that every flight attendant comes to sometime in his or her career; the decision to willingly become a bitter sky hag, or to shift my perspective and embrace the idea of gratitude, forgiveness and understanding. 

It’d be much easier to keep complaining. Instead, however, I am committing myself to a major attitude overhaul, not only in my line of work, but also in my daily life.  Since we in the Western world spend so much of our time working, it seems natural to me that many of our biggest epitomes stem in some capacity from our jobs.  They are, in all-too-many ways, our existence.  My goal? To change the nature of my existence without changing my job.  I think it’s possible and I hope you’ll follow along.  Quite honestly, I’m not quite sure when, where or how this will all happen and in all actuality, it’s as exciting as it is gut wrenching.   I’ve taken wisdom from the lyrics of my favorite Florence & The Machine song by coming to understand that “it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Speaking of which, I better get to sleep.  It’s almost 3:30am.