Project Hail Mary
COLLISION 00017
As my time in Cape Town came to a close, I’ll admit I became increasingly fixated on getting the upgrade for the flight home. I had been fortunate enough on my way out to get the big upgrade flying Polaris, United’s business class, on the 14-hour direct flight from Washington D.C. I was booked to fly back, however, two levels down in Economy Plus. I was feverishly wishing and hoping that the last few Plus Points I’d likely ever have would be enough to tip me in and do the trick.
So in between exploring Cape Town’s waterfront, shopping for gifts and sometimes for myself and enjoying delicious bites and sips from restaurants like The Potluck Club, Seven Colours Eatery, Ouzeri and FYN, I would open up the app and run countless, pointless scenarios. My odds swung like a pendulum. The upgrade was a lock; it was a hopeless cause. I had to have it; I didn’t need it, I could last 15-hours. No biggie.
No matter my chances, I would inevitably chastise myself for being so petty and desperate for something so transitory and trivial, particularly in light of what traveling the Western Cape had made me realize about privilege and opportunity. Was this really where I was spending mental energy?
But I’m human, if not a bit precious and pampered, and I wanted the freaking upgrade. Despite sitting atop the Premium Economy list for a better part of the week, I didn’t get one of the two possible upgrades until an hour before boarding. I had missed Polaris by one seat.
But then something slightly unusual happened. Somewhere between relief and disappointment as I was settling into my aisle seat, moving snacks and sweaters between bags, my seatmate introduced himself. As much as I travel, this didn’t happen a lot. I was skeptical about what I might be committing myself to for the next 15 hours as I reached out to accept his handshake.
As the flight took off we exchanged pleasantries. I immediately found him to be easy to talk to and delightfully personable. Any skepticism dissolved. Small talk started behind movie and Netflix recos, then elevated to on-board sleep and recovery strategies before mounting to meatier career accounts and advice.
He had an incredibly interesting background, one I feel compelled to protect the privacy of given its nature. As much as he shared his own journey in earnest detail, he listened to mine. Genuinely. We were roughly the same age but had led different lives. He was a family man and now an empty nester. I, a perpetually-by-choice, single woman without children.
As I spoke about the blessings and trials of doing my own thing, he softly challenged me to recognize my value and to keep searching for a way to sustain what I love to do. He didn’t boss or posture. He wasn’t impractical or overly philosophical. He simply encouraged with charisma and conviction. That’s a coaching model I’ve always responded to.
He then did something that not a lot of people would do. I was starting to sense that might be his “thing.” He acted. First, he subscribed to The Untethered Traveler’s Substack, then its Instagram. A few minutes thereafter, he upgraded his subscription to paid.
Then he did the most remarkable thing of all. He started reading. Me. Somewhere in the middle of Tessera Edition 70, he paused to say, “You’re a really good writer.”
And then he kept on reading!
Under the airline blanket, every part of me was beaming. Shocked, but beaming. I was suddenly so grateful I hadn’t gotten that big upgrade and missed this encounter. I would never have met Scott. Never made this truly meaningful connection.
I pressed play on his movie recommendation, Project Hail Mary. I felt it was the least I could do to show my gratitude beyond having already professed it profusely out loud. The movie was as fantastic as he promised.
That title, Project Hail Mary, has just the right ring to it. I see that now. I wasn’t supposed to lie flat in Polaris solo and unaffected for 15 hours, I was supposed to meet a good human who helped me see that the universe was always looking out for us even when we thought it dropped the pass.
