From The Window Seat

May 5, 2026

Writer: Taylor Brecher

Editor: Maya Stone

I used to fight my parents for the aisle seat, insisting that I was claustrophobic and needed the freedom to stretch and get up as I wanted. The window seat, to me, was just a trap with a view that I didn’t care much about. It meant having to ask someone to move and feeling confined in a space where I couldn’t easily move. 

That opinion feels foreign now, sitting here with my head resting on the cool side of the plane, and the steady vibration beneath me. How wrong I was, how blind. Truthfully, I’m ashamed of how long it took me to see the value in something so simple. On my most recent flight back to Michigan, I had already had a long day. My 9 am flight was cancelled, and the only option offered included a five-hour layover from New York to Chicago. By the time I finally boarded, I was tired, annoyed, and just wanted to climb into bed.

Yet, as soon as I stepped foot on the plane and followed my superstitious ritual of tapping my right foot and hand as I entered, my energy shifted. I brought my knees to my chest and leaned into the window with my hood pulled tight around my face, my headphones blasting country music. Immediately, all the day’s stress faded. 

Outside, it was night, but not simply dark. The world was so alive. Headlights moved along the dark roads, streetlamps cast circles of light, and countless houses filled my view. It reminded me that each person has their own story - one I would most likely never see or hear about. From above, I could only watch, distant but aware.

Teslas, Range Rovers, battered Sedans - it made no difference. From where I sat, they were all the same: tiny moving vehicles hoping to reach their destination. In that instant, I realized something that I hadn’t before: our small worries and battles for control seem to take over our thoughts, but with height they all dissolve. They shrink, almost vanish, even. The frustration that had consumed me all day suddenly felt a whole lot smaller.

I took the rest of the flight to reflect. Sure, there are many “small” things that hold importance in our lives. They shape us and how we feel. But from a distance, from a novel perspective, they don’t feel so overwhelming. They become part of a bigger picture instead of making up the whole picture.

Sonder. 

The idea that every random person I was watching has a life just as complicated as my own. That notion stuck with me as I stared into the dark, endless stretch of lights. There was no end to the mix of light and darkness. It was unsettling, the idea that the word keeps going far beyond what I can understand. I began looking around the plane, appreciating that we were all going to the same place, but for vastly different reasons.

Sitting there against the window, I realized that the real gift in life is perspective. Once in a while, I need to take a step back and see beyond whatever feels all-consuming in the moment. Finding comfort in such a large world is scary, but also incredible.