Between the Armrests – Speaking My Truth in the Sky

Generally, I try to ignore everyone around me when I am on a plane.  I am the type of person that tries to get situated with headphones on, listening to a podcast, before anyone can even sit next to me, attempting to head off any chance of a conversation way before it starts.  

First off, planes are terrible places to have a conversation.  One, it’s loud – so it’s very hard to hear what the other person is saying and you have to literally speak loud enough to be heard which means that you are also speaking loud enough for everyone else on the plane to hear you.  I am not a huge fan of listening to other people’s conversations for an entire plane ride, and I am certain that other people don’t want to hear my conversations either – hence the headphones.  

The heat from the Arizona sun felt steamy through the plastic window covering and I reached up to adjust the meager stream of lukewarm air to blow on my face in an attempt to cool down.   While doing so I made the mistake of making eye contact with him.  Shit.  Listen, we all know that making eye contact on a full flight is a risky game.  It’s like feeding a seagull at the beach; suddenly you’ve got company.  

He smiled at me and I smiled back.  Because I am nice like that.  I am one of those extroverted introverts.  The kind that prefers cozying up to a good book in a coffee shop all  alone but can also appreciate true kindness and connection between myself and another human.  And if you catch me on a good day, I might force myself to chat with you – and I will most likely enjoy it.

His slightly over-sized frame plopped next to me with a “hi there” and settled between the armrests.  I would guess that he was in his mid 70’s with tufts of greyish white hair poking out just above both ears where his glasses looped over. His voice registered low and soft and he spoke in a kind grand-fatherly way. We chatted about work, what we did for a living and why we were in Arizona.  We were both flying back home to Utah.  

He wore a white button down shirt, a tie, and brown slacks with dress shoes.  It was an outfit that I was sure he wore to both work and church on Sunday.  I made that connection because under his white shirt you could see an outline of tshirt-type underwear which were a staple article of clothing for an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  The church I had grown up in.  The Mormons.

He loved Utah, he said.  Had I grown up in Utah, he asked.  I told him yes.  Then he paused and glanced at my tattoos on my bare shoulders as if he was unsure how to proceed.  I was hoping that he would continue on about something else, anything else, but instead he proceeded.

He began telling me about his membership in the Mormon church. He told me that he found peace and joy there and believed that it was the truest church on earth.  He was sincere and easy and quietly confident in his conviction, as if he had had this conversation before.  Perhaps with another seatmate on a plane home to Utah.  He was genuine and kind.  I could see he believed whole-heartedly in the words he was speaking to me. I listened. 

His next question, Do you believe in God?

I told him that I was currently exploring my beliefs to determine what I think about God but didn’t give much more of an answer than that.  

He told me that he had had many experiences in his life that convinced him that his church was right and true.  He spoke about how he believed that God would manifest things to him through warm feelings and thoughts and that was how he knew his beliefs were true.  I didn’t say anything but just continued to listen.

What did I think? he asked. 

About the Mormon church?  I said.  He nodded.

I told him that I was raised Mormon. 

He raised his eyebrows. 

I told him that I was a true believer into my 30’s. 

He smiled. 

And then I told him that I had since left and was no longer a member.

There were too many things to explain to him about why and I didn’t feel that I needed to do so.  But I did want him to know one thing.  I wanted him to understand how I felt outside of the church.  

I told him that outside of the church I felt more connected to myself, to God, and to life, than I ever had before. I told him that I felt more grounded and spiritual than I ever had before. And that I experienced warm feelings, clarity of thought, and guidance, similar to what he described as being directed by God.  

He looked a bit puzzled.  So, with kindness I sighed and said,

“Isn’t it interesting that you have had the same type of experience about staying in the church as I have had about leaving it? The experience and feelings surrounding ‘finding the truth’ are the same. Why would that be, if one of us is right and the other is wrong?” 

I am not sure what he thought. He only tilted his head and furrowed his brows and said “alright”. After that we didn’t speak much for the rest of the trip and resigned to stay on our side of the arm rests. 

Here’s the thing.  I know that he wanted to share something that brought him peace and stillness and joy.  He believed it was good and wanted to share that with me.  Or maybe I was just another person to “convert” and “testify” to.  I’m not really sure.  But I felt that his intentions were honorable.  And I respect that.

But you see, those things that he wanted me to experience, that were so important to him, weren’t actually lacking in my life.  In fact, I was experiencing them in more abundance than I ever had before. 

Being able to vocalize this to a complete stranger was pivotal for me.  My past self, the one who was taught to obey men & humble myself to them & to heed their counsel, would have quietly listened and nodded my head in fake agreement, fighting my own thoughts and feelings and shoving them down as deeply as possible.  I would have done all that I could to avoid speaking up, questioning, or making any kind of waves.  Because non-compliance, disagreement, or even questioning, was not something that felt safe to me before.  

But, at that moment, having been out of the church for 7 years, I just wasn’t afraid.  I had learned how to validate my own belief systems.  I had found a safe space in my body to speak my truth through kindness, and with my own authority.  I recognized that I didn’t agree with what he was trying to convince me as being “right for me” and I no longer felt obligated to pretend to agree.  I no longer needed to stay small.  I could release those chains of conformity because they no longer held true for me.  Those things that gave me a false sense of security in the past were in fact, binding me down, & holding me back.  

For a long time I was taught that spiritual peace, clarity and guidance could only come to you if you were on the “right path.”  I was taught that if I left the church, I would lose that light, that guidance, and that sense of purpose.  But, I have found that not to be true.  I am still connected to God, to the Universe, to a higher power, to MYSELF – and my “path” would not be considered by many in the church to be “right.”  

The truth is — my path belongs to me now and not to an institution.  And my relationship with God is uniquely nuanced as I invite my own intuition to the table, giving it a chair where it was never welcomed before.  This is where I can collaborate and discover how to live in alignment with all things wild & precious.  And I stand in awe of it all.