Day Momo (Des Moments) August 1st-15th
I choked up. My eyes watered. I cried. It was tears from the movie. Tears from an experience I had. It was tears of joy. The joy of being alive. It was also tears of sadness for others. Others that didn’t make it out alive.
It was Sully that did it. The movie turned me inside out, and sent shock waves through my body. Sully, the captain who landed his plane of 155 passengers on the Hudson River when both engines failed immediately after take off. That’s his true story.
I experienced a similar true story in May 2011:
The jet is 30,000 feet up, cruising altitude. I am sitting in the middle seat of the last row. I’m half asleep.
I am with two very close friends; my former employer, Kent, and his wife Seema. Their 6-year-old daughter, Kamryn is also on board. They are sitting towards the front. Kent is separated by several rows from his wife and daughter sitting together.
Something smells. I smell smoke. I wake up. Smoke begins to engulf the cabin. I had trouble breathing. I had to cover my face with my shirt. There is a fire somewhere below the cabin.
The Captain get on the intercom: “Ladies and Gentlemen, we do understand there is a fire on the aircraft. We are making an emergency landing in Tampa, arriving in 20 minutes. We are starting our descent.”
I have no control. Just fear. Bone chilling fear. Whoever said there is a sense of “calm” before the “end,” lied. I did not want to die.
The flight attendants were trembling. They were crying into the speaker telling us to take our seats.
The Captain’s 2nd Announcement: “Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands on the seat in front of you. Put your legs together. Put your head down…..”
Then the 3 words you never want to hear on a plane:
“Brace. For. Impact.”
We descended from 30,000 feet to 10,000 in 5 minutes. A duck dive with some turbulence. Not heavy turbulence, but any turbulence is terrifying when there’s a fire on your plane.
My heart pounded in my chest like a jackhammer against pavement.
What did I do first?
Instinct and survival. What are my surroundings? How can I protect my self from impact? Where are the exits? Are we landing on land or in water?
After instinct, there was only waiting and thinking. The strangest and most intense 20 minutes of my life.
What did I feel? What did I think?
I thought about my family. The people I care about. The people I love. I thought about my mom, my sister, my grandparents. My friends. What would they feel if I went down? How would they be affected?
I felt a deep, burning pain. The pain was the thought of their hardship. I did not want them grieving my death. I thought about my late father, who died 9 years before. Would I see him again? Would I join him in the great mystery?
I thought about things I did in my life. I thought about things that I had not yet done. The things I might miss if we crash.
I thought about the passengers on 9/11. How they might have thought the same things I’m thinking now. I realized I am not different from those who lost their lives. I thought this could just be my time.
When you’re alive and healthy in your 20’s you don’t really think about your death. I was slung shot into thinking about imminent death. It was scary and I was not ready.
I prayed. I hoped. I begged. I asked the universe to help me. I asked life to help me. I asked God to help me. I asked Karma for another chance.
I tried to think positive. I could only think of the negative. I tried to accept what is. I couldn’t accept it. I tried to be completely present. I couldn’t be present. I kept thinking of the future. It was a future without me.
I tried to visualize I was somewhere else. All I could see were my sweaty, shaky hands. I tried to remove myself. All I could feel was my heart pounding. Nothing worked.
Death roared loudly in front my face.
Kent could hear his daughter crying a few rows behind him. He couldn’t do a thing. He was stuck in his seat. He recorded a video on his phone for his son. He was thinking if we crashed maybe they’ll find this phone the video will reach his son.
Thoughts continued to race. The lady next to me on the window pulled the shade down. She closed her eyes and started praying. I pulled the window shade back up immediately. I had to see what was going on. Will we crash on water or land?
Minutes passed. They felt like hours. My heart sputtered out of control.
The captain’s loudspeaker came back on: “DIVERT DIVERT DIVERT.” The captain didn’t intend for that to be heard. Another jet from Tampa came very close to our plane.
Kent saw the diverting jet soar by below us. I didn’t see. I don’t know how close it was. I guess close enough to have to DIVERT DIVERT DIVERT.
The loud smoke alarms finally turned off in the bathroom. The best way I can describe the mood in the back of the plane was eerie. Eerie silence. I felt I was witnessing my own funeral. I was quietly awaiting my death. The others were too. Imagine attending your own funeral 15 minutes before you die, 10,000 feet in the air.
But we were getting closer to land. As each minute passed, my confidence slightly grew. I started internally cheering on the pilot. I was telling myself, “Come on man, you got this. Land this son-of-a-bitch.” I told the two ladies sitting on each side of me, “We’re going to land this thing.”
You might be thinking, was I sitting next to a beautiful bikini model who might be willing to have her last kiss, her final moment before the impending doom? No, unfortunately I was not.
The smoke was dissipating, but we still didn’t know our fate. What if it was the landing gear was on fire? Landing was still a big questions mark.
We approached the runway, and my instincts set in. I looked out the window and prepared for the worst. I prepared to cover my head from the explosion.
Here we go. Thinking to myself, “Mom, Kellie, Poppy Grandma, “I love you.” Thinking to myself, “Land this son-of-a-bitch. Come on!”
Rubber to pavement. We landed. Perfectly. Smoothly.
It was one giant exhale, and then a celebration. Cheers, tears, hugs, and high fives were shared with everyone. I remember hugging Kent, Seema, and Kamryn in the terminal. We survived a true death trap. I looked around the terminal, my legs feeling like jello and said, “Holy shit.”
It was a moment in real life that teetered on the edge of death.
It reminded me that EVERY moment we have on this this Earth is real life. It’s a gift. Everyday. It’s happening RIGHT NOW.
After this experience, Kent Clothier, who’s become a close friend, and mentor, started living by and sharing the motto: “The Time Is Now.” I try to as well.
One day, life in this body will end for you. It will end for me. It will end for all of us. It may be frightening. It may be sad, but it’s true.
We don’t have control of when that day will come. However, we do have control of every day, every MOMENT given to us. We have control of that right NOW.
My message is simple.
After every one of these phrases add the word NOW to the particular word that relates to your life:
Be it, do it, play it, run it, sweat it, swim it, sculpt it, paint it, act it, dance it, sing it, sell it, buy it, write it, read it, travel to it, love it, love her, love him, help it, design it, apply it, build it, create it, compose it, engage it, accept it, embrace it, earn it, try it, succeed at it, fail at it, try it again, own it, ask for it, ask for it again, get it, learn it, speak it, plan it, present it, propose it, implement it, invest it, market it, brand it, make it, difference make it, start it, quit it, fix it, improve it, inspire it, send it, receive it, bike it, hike it, fly it, communicate it, surrender to it, be grateful for it, cultivate it, define it, decide it, give it, and live it,– NOW.
The Time is Now. The time is not the past. The time is not the future. The time is now. You never know when you’re “now” is finished.
My “now” was almost finished when I was 26 years old.
I am alive right now. So are you.
The Time is Now.
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