I think people get a sense of possibility when they're on a

The words of Walter Kirn—“I think people get a sense of possibility when they're on a plane, even romantic possibility, wondering if the perfect person is going to sit down next to them or something”—speak to the eternal longing of the human heart. He captures the strange enchantment of travel, where one feels suspended between worlds, unmoored from the ordinary, and open to the extraordinary. A plane, though made of steel and engines, becomes a vessel of dreams, a place where the soul imagines chance encounters, fateful meetings, and the sudden arrival of love.

The origin of this feeling lies in the nature of movement itself. From the dawn of time, journeys have carried not only the traveler’s body but also their imagination into new realms. To leave the ground, to soar above the earth, is to step into the unknown. In such moments, the mind whispers of possibility—that life could change at any instant, that destiny might sit down beside us in the form of a stranger with a smile. Travel has always awakened this hope, for to move is to invite transformation.

History offers us many tales of chance encounters upon journeys. Consider the story of Dante Alighieri, who, as legend tells, first encountered Beatrice not in the settled quiet of ordinary life but in a fleeting moment, a passing of souls in the streets of Florence. That brief encounter became the guiding star of his poetry, shaping his vision of divine love. Though not upon a plane, it was still born of movement, of the unexpected meeting in a place between destinations. Such stories remind us that the romantic possibility Kirn describes is no mere fancy, but part of the way life itself unfolds.

There is also a deeper truth here: the airplane is a symbol of liminality, a place in-between. It is neither the origin nor the destination, but a suspended moment outside of ordinary time. In such spaces, people open themselves more easily to wonder. They wonder about who they will meet, what lies ahead, and whether fate has chosen this very moment to alter the course of their lives. This sense of openness is not confined to planes alone but belongs to every threshold—train stations, ports, crossroads—where the ordinary rules of life seem softened by the presence of change.

The lesson we are called to take is this: live with the awareness of possibility in all moments, not only in the air. The truth is that the perfect person, the meaningful opportunity, the life-altering connection, could sit beside you not only on a plane but in a café, in a classroom, or while waiting in line. What the airplane awakens in us is not a magic tied to altitude, but a reminder that life itself is a series of chance encounters waiting to bloom.

Practically, this means cultivating openness. Do not bury yourself so deeply in distraction that you miss the presence of others around you. Smile. Speak. Dare to believe that even in the most ordinary of circumstances, something extraordinary may unfold. The romantic spirit is not one that waits passively for miracles, but one that recognizes miracles when they arrive.

Thus, Kirn’s reflection is not about planes alone, but about the posture of the soul. Every moment of life is a flight, every day a journey, and every meeting a possible turning point. To live well is to embrace that mystery, to carry within you the sense of possibility, the readiness to be surprised, and the courage to welcome the stranger who may carry the gift of transformation.

So let this truth be passed down: wherever you go, walk as though love, destiny, and joy might sit down beside you at any moment. For the heart that expects possibility will not only dream of it in the air but will find it also upon the earth.