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Column Delightful stranger transforms a journey
By KRIS BERGGREN
One of the nice things about having
children is the window of opportunity it gives you to revisit the childhood
world of willing suspension of disbelief. My time may be limited; two of my
children revealed this summer that they know the truth about Santa (though one,
Im sure, would be willing to reclaim The Big Guy at the drop of a sleigh
bell). Still, we love to enter together a fantasy world, transported by books
and movies to a place where angels, fairies and other magical creatures
live.
Lately, for example, weve jumped on the crowded Harry Potter
bandwagon and were loving the ride. These New York Times
bestsellers by author J.F. Rowling feature a young orphan whose existence is
transformed by the revelation that he is in fact a wizard of renown in a
parallel universe that intersects with but unfolds unseen by most of us
muggles, that is to say, humans. Needless to say, Harry is worthy
of his elevated status and thankfully escapes the dreary existence of life with
an all-too-conforming, humorless aunt and uncle.
Well, why not? Life is full of mystical close encounters we ignore
rather than engage in because weve got the blinders on, whether from
sheer necessity or from fear of getting too close to something we may not be
able to control. Im not saying every single conversation with a checkout
clerk at the grocery store is going to be life-changing, but I think there is a
lot more than meets the eye out there.
On a recent flight from Austin, Texas, back home to Minneapolis, I
sat down in my seat next to the window, fat magazine in hand, tired from three
days of interviews for a project Im working on. Air travel doesnt
have the same glamour it once did for me. (As I kid I tallied how many plane
rides Id taken and thrilled to the Northwest Orient Airlines jingle on my
dads favorite AM radio station as I sat watching him shave every
morning.) Ive now adopted the jaded attitude that travel is something to
be endured, not enjoyed. I insulate myself as much as possible, rarely talking
with my seatmates, preferring the poor-quality personal sound
systems, known less euphemistically as headphones, or even the trashy
celebrity magazines. Yet I still feel an air of excitement about the
airports boundless people-watching opportunities and occasionally concoct
unfinished stories about strangers glimpsed at a fleeting moment in their
lives. Maybe its just that from the airport, the limitless horizon is
everywhere.
Yet halfway through the flight, the young man who sat next to me
didnt read my defenses well, or maybe he spotted the hole that so few of
us look for and started up a conversation with something like, Is that a
good magazine? Well, theres an existential question for you. Good,
as in Kant, Mills or Plato? Good as in well written and edited? Good as in nice
pictures? But I responded without irony, offering instead my honest evaluation
of the magazine. Our conversation continued easily, and it turned out we had
much in common, despite our 20-year age difference. We had each spent part of
our growing-up years abroad with dads who job-hopped with their companies. We
speak Spanish (he better than I). We love reading, especially kids books.
We each even have pets named Luna. I learned where he attends college, that he
wants to be a teacher and that he has a sister. He learned about my family and
my job. We talked about what you can see when you look out the window of a
plane at different times of day. If you look way up, he told me, you start to
see the blackness of space. I was intrigued by this sweet, slightly precocious
young man with clear blue eyes and a ready smile.
After about a half-hours conversation, all of a sudden, he
said, I realize Ive forgotten to tell you the most important thing
about me. Just recently I found God again. Well, I thought, here goes.
Im in for a proselytizing session. But instead, he continued, I
realized that Id lost touch with something that has always been in me,
and that theres this great joy that comes from living in the present. The
present is all we really have. Whoa, thats what I believe, too, I
thought, and I cant be reminded of it enough. I started to wonder who
this delightful stranger really was and why he was seated next to me.
Coincidence, I know, but coincidence is what we make of it.
As our plane descended in the clear, late afternoon sky, I pointed
out my kids school and my house on the Monopoly board of south
Minneapolis streets. We jotted down for each other the names of favorite short
stories and novels, and our e-mail addresses. I was looking forward to my
destination home, but also grateful that the ability of my extraordinary
companion to win my trust had somehow transformed my journey.
Kris Berggren writes from Minneapolis.
National Catholic Reporter, October 8,
1999
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