Sometimes flying can be tiring — like our trips from Alaska. They are usually at least two legs, and the first is always overnight. Five hours of half-sleep in a loud, crowded cabin is not ideal. But, looking outside at 35,000 feet to see another plane beside us was stirring to say the least.

I’ll never know if our proximity was anything significant.

Around thirteen when I visited my dad, I used to periodically fly between Houston and Baton Rouge in small planes that seated around 30 people. My stomach on the final descent felt I was on like a roller coaster sliding down the rails after its highest peak. I didn’t like roller coasters, either. It always seemed like they weren’t well attached.

Every aspect unique to flying then reminded me of the news about recent airplane crashes. Not that I knew what dying meant, but I thought about it a lot.

When did all of that change? Looking out that window at those people looking at us gave me some insight. Changing perspectives has a lot to do with it — which means I could have been a lot different.