”Next time you say ‘I have nothing in  common with this person,’ remember that you have a great deal in common: A few years from now — two years or seventy years, it doesn’t make much difference– both of you will have become rotting corpses, then piles of dust, then nothing at all.  This is a sobering and humbling realization that leaves little room for pride.  Is this a negative thought? No, it is a fact.  Why close your eyes to it? In that sense, there is total equality between you and every other creature.”

I enjoy flying; it’s usually relaxing.  As soon as the plane takes off, all my stressful life problems are reduced into inconsequential ants, preoccupied with the day’s routine commute. From 30,000 feet, it all seems so trivial.

A few weeks ago I was flying back from D.C., and the guy I was sitting next to was talking loudly on his BlackBerry phone: “What? No, I didn’t, I told him to sell those shares!”- I don’t remember exactly what he was saying, but he was making a lot of loud calls, like he wanted everyone to hear, like, we get it, dude: first class, scotch on the rocks, custom cufflinks, you’re a tycoon: we’re all impressed.

About half way through the flight we catch some turbulence, and the seatbelt sign goes on. The Captain gets on the PA system: “sorry about this folks, we’re flying through a storm…” About 5 minutes later it gets really bad. My drink skates off the folding table and hits the floor. Everyone watches it nervously in silence as the empty cup bounces around the aisle, like a piece of trash on a busy highway.

At this point the captain isn’t saying anything, and the turbulence is so bad that it is necessary to have a seatbelt; not in case of a crash, but to keep from hitting your head on the plastic ceiling. I look over at the guy who had been talking loudly on his phone 20 minutes ago, he’s quiet now- with a grimacing look on his face. His eyes are closed and he has both hands on both armrests. White knuckles. He isn’t making any noise but his lips are moving. Everyone’s probably thinking the same thing- we’re gonna die.

At 30,000 feet, when death seems not so improbable, all the pretenses we put on and identities people wear go out the window. It makes it obvious that none of this really matters a whole lot. Blatantly confronted with our own mortality, it becomes very evident that life is fragile, and that in the long run we really have no control.

I am constantly worrying about things, and labeling people: attractive or not, makes a lot of money or doesn’t, intelligent or not. All things that have to do with how your brain works, how you think, who’s child you are, what you look like, who you’ve come to know- all things that are basically innate.

On Monday I had a major client threaten to back out of a deal if we couldn’t move quicker. Normally I’d cause a lot of stress for myself- but I just told him ‘O.K.- I’m doing everything I can. I understand if you want to leave’ and that was it. At 30,000 feet, it’s easy to remember what really matters. On a day to day basis, we tend to forget. The ironic part is, death isn’t uncommon or some distant event- it happens to everybody, probably in the next 50 or so years.

Next time ‘something really bad’ happens, I’ll try and remember- if you knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you were going to die, would it really matter? Not to be morbid, or as an excuse to be complacent, it’s just that stress isn’t necessary.

You’ll always do the best with the cards you’ve been dealt- that too, is innate. Even the most deranged person, in their own reality, is doing the best they know how. You can have your opinions, thoughts about yourself and who you are, problems and ambitions,  and enjoy the experience. Just remember that ultimately, they are all transient.

What do I have to say to the kids?
Let go, life does get tough…
No need to stress,
Hold you back too much…

-RevoFev – Cudi

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