When people talk about flights, they usually bring up the stale air, cramped legroom, and flavorless food. While nobody wants to be stuck in a confined space for hours on end, I’ve always loved flying.
Growing up, my family flew between China and the U.S. once a year, and whenever the cabin lights dimmed and heads began to nod, I would pass the time doodling or journaling for hours. Flying always symbolized a transition from one place to another, and there was something comforting about being 40,000 feet in the air among rows of strangers. As a young girl, going on a flight meant the beginning of a new and unfamiliar adventure—that’s still true today.
I was reminded of this feeling during a recent trip to Mexico City with my best friend over Presidents’ Day weekend. On the flight from New York, we were buzzing with excitement and anticipation. For one, we did not plan anything beyond where we were sleeping and a handful of restaurants to go to. As our plane began to descend, I asked myself: “how do we even get to our AirBnb” or “how will we possibly see this city in just three days?” For two well-seasoned travelers, this was the least prepared we had ever been.
When we landed in Mexico City, we were overwhelmed by the vibrancy of the tree-lined streets, fresh juice stands, and colorful buildings. It became apparent that we would barely scratch the surface of the city’s rich history and culture during our stay. With that in mind, on the morning of our first day, we sketched a loose list of monuments, museums, and restaurants that we wanted to see. It’s hard to say what we actually accomplished from that initial “to-do,” but over the next three days, we soaked in all we could about the ancient Aztec civilization, consumed countless tacos, attempted to acquire a taste for smoky mezcal, and much more. I had a chance to break out my rusty Spanish and was humbled when strangers listened patiently and helped us get to where we needed to go (or order a dish we desperately wanted to try).
However, like any trip, there were also a handful of hiccups. Some of them could have easily been prevented (for example, by checking the closing time of a museum), but others were out of our control. At 2 AM on our second night, we woke up to the sound of sirens and dogs barking outside. Confused and dreamy with sleep, I opened my eyes to see the fan in our bedroom swaying from side to side. The aftershock of a 6.2 magnitude earthquake had rippled its way to Mexico City. It wasn’t until we realized that the walls of our building were moving that we ran out to the street! Frazzled and completely unaware of earthquake protocol, we stood in our pajamas and waited for the seismic activity to stop alongside our new neighbors.
Yet despite these unexpected challenges, we still carved our own path through the city. Countless times we encountered situations where we had to decide on a Plan B spontaneously because our original plan didn’t work out. Despite our initial disappointment, pivoting inevitably led us to countless gems we might have missed otherwise. This way, we discovered parts of Mexico City we didn’t intend to and saw a level of vibrancy neither of us expected.
On the return flight back to New York, I reflected on how stimulating it was to have our plans thrown up in the air on a daily basis. In contrast to the routine of my nine-to-five job and the tiny rituals I’ve put in place like yoga or art class, the three days away were invigorating in part because I wasn’t accountable to a schedule. I was reminded that there has always been, and still is, a huge part of me that loves to be in transition and hates to be held down.
While I recognize it’s easy to think of these thoughts coming back from vacation, I challenge myself to incorporate this sense of freedom and spontaneity beyond touchdown in New York.