Last night I hopped on a plane for Lisbon, Portugal. I sat in the very last row as I watched passengers slowly file on to this packed flight. I heard Portuguese being spoken by the family sitting in front of me, reminding me of how much I loved the cadence and harmony of the language.
The gentlemen sitting beside me was an elderly man from the south. He was kind, sometimes abrupt, but mostly aloof during the 7-hour flight. I half-wondered if he knew where he was going and what he planned to do once we landed. "Is the voltage in Portugal 220?" I looked at him quizzically before telling him I had no idea and that it was perhaps the most interesting question I'd ever been asked.
He also asked a few times what language was being spoken over the PA system. "Portuguese," the woman beside him replied. I started to build this entire narrative of a person I didn't even know based on a few completely innocuous questions. Most weren't even directed to me. Yet, I foolishly pieced together a biography for this man.
When I got off the plane and had a few minutes to collect myself I realized it was my problem, not his. His take on the world threatened my own and rather than be curious about our differences I silently tried to leverage mine by using judgment. It's not at all what community, understanding, compassion, or even travel are about -- not in the least.
Next time, I'll make sure I do better.
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