One of my life long dreams was fulfilled a few years ago at the the Los Angeles Airport.
A scruffy facial haired, hat donning, guitar carrying, t-shirt and jeans clothed version of myself sat waiting patiently for my flight home. Looking inconspicuous, minding my own business, and doing nothing more than being my normal self , a man walked by, did a double take, then asked “Umm, are you that guy from that show?”
Now, not knowing what guy he was talking about or what show he might have seen him on, I knew exactly how I had to answer, “Yes, yes I am,” and smiled. He asked me for an autographed, I scribbled something illegible and he went on his way. It was the first and probably only time I will ever be mistaken for being a celebrity (which is not say I won’t ever be recognized, at some point, as a celebrity), and it was awesome.
When you are not rich and not famous, there is something neat about those simple moments when you can feel like you are.
I am a somewhat charitable person. When asked, I always try to spare a little change, and not just touch my pants pockets a couple times, shrug my shoulders and say sorry.
On one particular occasion, I opened my wallet, hoping to find a crisp George Washington snuggled between the 20 dollar bill (singular) and the side wall of my wallet, but disappointingly found nothing but the twenty. Having committed to giving something already, I looked up, looked back at the twenty and slowly pulled it out and bid it adieu. Knowing full well that I had just given away my food money and would be eating cup of noodle for the next three days, I acted like it was no biggie, that I had tons of money to spare. I was gratefully thanked, and went on my way.
I think I might have impressed him as I came off looking much richer than I actual was.
Perhaps, though, my greatest instance of this, was my one and only first class flight. Cashing in on some well overdue miles, I splurged an extra 5,000 miles to not just get a free ticket, but a free first class return ticket from a mainland trip.
First class is aspirational. When you are sitting in coach, and you look up there towards the front, sneaking peaks behind that curtain that divides you from the successful people, you want nothing more than to be up there. Especially when you are squashed in the middle seat between an obesely overweight man who’s fat is folding over the arm rest, and a crying baby.
So, with my free ticket in hand, my moment had arrived. Despite being giddier than a school girl at a Justin Timberlake concert, I tried everything in my power to pull off the illusion that I belonged there.
I casually walked up to the first class counter to check in, strolled nonchalantly through the security check point until I took my seat in the holding area. At the preboarding announcement for first class and premier club passengers, I slowly got up, tossed my bag over my shoulder, like I had done this a million times before, and entered the gate.
Because first class passengers board first, when it comes time for the lowly coach passengers to be herded onto the plane, they have to do so past the comfortably seated first class passengers. I tried to look normal, reading the paper, and averting eye contact as much as possible, only occasionally looking up at the kids as they walk by and with a simple look tell them that “yes, one day, you can be living this life, too”.
I don’t think one needs money to be happy. Though, I would agree, it helps. In each of my mistaken richness moments, they weren’t fun because I came off looking rich or that I ever felt I was better than anyone else, they were fun because it gave me a feeling of success. Finding success is to find happiness. Feeling successful, and being able to feel proud about yourself is to really be happy. And if you can find that in cases of mistaken identities and first class tickets, it’s nice, as is finding it in the work that you do and with the people that you love, and that doesn’t require any money at all.