Airports, Planes, and The Big Terrible Dream

As I navigate the labyrinthian nightmare of airport processes, I join this intricate dance of boarding a plane: Initial check-in, final boarding call — each step unfolds with a precision that is both impressive and daunting. Ever since I was a kid, airports have seemed like a beautiful place to me, filled with a certain cozy-yet-thrilling energy of adventure waiting to unfold.

That whole atmosphere, from the smell of coffee mingling with the sound of gate announcements and the constant chatter of people and the bright screens hinting at destinations yet to be explored - all together has this magical ambient quality.

I approach the check-in counter and meet the familiar hustle and bustle of travelers eager to go off on their journeys. Boarding pass in hand, I make my way through the security screening area, where “diligent” officers ensure that “all” passengers adhere to safety regulations. At the departure gate, amidst the flurry of activity as passengers prepare to board, there's a palpable sense of chaos and anticipation. Everyone eagerly anticipates the relief boarding will bring, but the extent of this relief is directly tied to one's wealth. First-class passengers are afforded the luxury of seamless boarding and step into the plane to find themselves enveloped in spacious and opulent seating. Meanwhile, economy class passengers navigate through the crowd, tightly squeezing into their more humble accommodations. This contrast in treatment also extends to the warmth of the welcome from flight attendants. It brings to mind a classic Seinfeld episode where Jerry, a first-class passenger, effortlessly glides through boarding while his friend Elaine battles this chaos of coach. Upon presenting her boarding pass, Elaine is met with an unenthusiastic response from the flight attendant, "Third row, right". In contrast, Jerry's first-class status is met with a smirk and a cordial "OH! You're in here. Welcome aboard, sir."

Just like Elaine, I find myself wedged between two fellow passengers, navigating the cramped confines of economy class. With little room to maneuver, the prospect of making it to the restroom becomes a logistical challenge. So, with this debilitating stress and a full bladder, I let my mind wander to that time as a kid I got to board first class; it felt like a glimpse into a world of luxury and privilege that I desperately wanted to be a part of.

As an 11-year-old already enchanted by the beauty of airports I naively thought to myself, "One day I'll be so rich I would get to experience this beautiful ambience of first class every day". The plush seats, attentive service, and refined atmosphere casted a spell on my young mind and ignited some dreams of a life filled with opulence and prestige. In that fleeting moment, I found solace in the dream of success. Success to me equated to the ability to soar above the clouds in style. As the years passed and I found myself relegated to the confines of coach class, the illusion has crumbled.

As first-class passengers are ushered through streamlined processes, they're spared even the thought of inconveniences endured by those in the back of the plane. This realization greatly challenges my romanticized notions of success and privilege.

The relentless pursuit of climbing the ladder of hierarchical achievement, glorified by society, blinds us to the struggles of those below us on the rungs. These Jordan Petersonian ideas of climbing the ladder of heirarchical success are engrained in us so heavily that that's all we find meaning in. How many more 11-year-olds are enchanted by the ambiance of first-class seats, dreaming of this luxurious life? And just how meaningful are these dreams? The exquisite appeal of privilege and luxury, often inherited rather than earned, begs the question: How meaningful are dreams that glamorize privilege. How meaningful is any dream? Are they all merely shackled to an embedded consumerist ideal, perpetuating a cycle of selfishness? Do we blindly chase after privilege and luxury without stopping to consider the implications for others? How meaningful are our dreams if they are built on exclusion and selfishness?

I wish I had the answer.

But what do you think?