There Is Always Time to Connect
And here’s how the question can help :)
Estimated reading time: 7 minutes (Or watch the video!)
It had been a challenging day at work.
The kind of day where nothing seemed to go right, and everyone I interacted with was already disappointed in me. Not because I’d done anything wrong, but because they were disappointed in air travel itself.
The day had started at 3 a.m., which is early even for a flight attendant. Our first flight was delayed, causing a flood of frustration from passengers worried about their connections—and leaving me with no time to eat.
But that flight was over. Those people were gone. A new flight was about to begin, and I was hoping at least this one would run smoothly. I still didn’t know when I’d get a chance to eat—but hey, at least we had a plane, right?
Wrong.
“Don’t get comfortable,” said one of the pilots as we rolled our bags onboard. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere on this one.”
I wheeled my suitcase to a premature stop, and let out a heavy sigh.
“Why?” I asked much more cheerfully than I actually felt.
“Take a look,” he gestured towards the window on my right.
I stepped away from the luggage and squished my face up to the fiberglass. Outside were several mechanics, holding several pieces of engine.
“Oh, you poor little plane… That’s how I feel, too,” I said softly to no one in particular. Then, I chuckled, “Well, at least that gives me time to eat!”
I didn’t even sit down—just tore into my lunchbox and started shoveling food into my mouth right there by the door.
A few bites in, we got the official word: the aircraft was going out of service. We had to deplane and wait for a new one.
I stuffed in one more bite, repacked my lunch, then rolled my suitcase back up the jet bridge—and straight across to the food court. I sat down and finished eating just in time for the next announcement: we had a new plane, and a new gate.
We scurried to the aircraft, stowed our bags, and completed our safety checks. Then, we gave the gate agent the greenlight for boarding. Technically, this flight hadn’t even started, but morale was already low. The delay, the confusion, the scramble—it all weighed heavily on everyone.
Well… not everyone.
The first person to board was a man in his early-to-mid 40s, wearing a baseball cap.
“Hi! I’m Brian,” he said cheerfully. “How are you?” It wasn’t an obligatory pleasantry. He genuinely wanted to know how I was doing. Even though I wasn’t doing great, I appreciated that the first interaction of this new flight was not a complaint, a request, or even a question. Instead, it was a gesture of kindness.
Then he shared that his whole family—all sixteen of them—were traveling together. He’d been given two upgrades to first class seats, but wanted his parents to have them.
Only 30 seconds into knowing this man, and I was already touched by his kindness and generosity.
One by one, they all boarded: sixteen people, spanning three generations. And the most prominent characteristic in this family was that every single one of them was smiling.
They didn’t seem to care about the delay, or the gate change. They were just happy they were still going—and that they were going together. They knew their flight was not the type of connection that mattered.
As Brian’s parents settled into the first class cabin—my section—I immediately saw where he got his warmth. They introduced themselves, asked me questions by name, and spoke with such genuine interest:
“So, Janna, where are you from? How’d you get into this work? What’s the hardest thing about this job? What’s the most rewarding?”
This family’s kindness and joy, especially amidst all the stress, had a calming effect across the whole plane. Other passengers were indeed frustrated, but it was outshined by their friendly spirit.
After we served lunch, Brian came up to check on his parents.
Then, he shyly admitted he’d fallen asleep and missed the beverage service.
“Could I trouble you for a coffee?” he asked politely.
“It’s no trouble at all!” I said. “And while you’re here, I have a fun question for you.”
I grabbed my purse and pulled out the journal. He smiled in excited curiosity.
“This is my music project,” I said as I handed it to him. “What’s a song that reminds you of a happy memory? Would you write it down in the journal?”
He instantly recalled the song, and the memory, but he couldn’t remember the artist. So, right there in the aisle, this middle-aged man turned to his dad and fired off an obscure question about his own childhood.
“Hey Dad, remember when we’d go on those road trips and you’d roll down all the windows and we’d sing that song called ‘Light my fire’? Who sang it; what was the band?”
Brian’s dad looked up from his laptop with a puzzled expression, and laughed in confusion. Then, he and I answered in unison: “The Doors.” He proceeded to ask what on earth prompted such a question, especially in that setting.
“It’s for Janna’s music project. She asks people to write about happy memories related to songs,” Brian explained, showing him the journal. Then he turned back to me and asked:
“Can they do it too?”
I smiled and exclaimed, “Oh yes, please! I’d love that!”
Even though Brian’s dad had been working, he paused to share his stories. His mom jotted down her memory, then handed the journal over when her husband reached a stopping point. He closed his laptop and gently placed the book on top of his paperwork, giving it his full attention.
For a few moments, his deadlines didn’t matter. Connecting with me—a total stranger—was far more important.
Then, Brian’s mom asked if she could take the journal to the back and include her daughters.
“Absolutely!” I exclaimed. “The more the merrier.”
A few moments later, she returned, holding hands with a shy little girl.
“My granddaughter wants to tell you about her song,” she said.
I knelt down to be at eye level, trying not to cry happy tears from how greatly this group of people had warmed my heart.
The girl clutched her grandma’s hand and squeezed her story through a nervous smile. She told me about the Backstreet Boys song she had heard at a special girls’ night with all the women in her family.
“I love the Backstreet Boys!” I said. “I listened to them a lot when I was your age. I can definitely understand why you’d love that song—especially getting to hear it with your mom, and your aunts, and your grandma… I bet that was very special!”
I’d asked that question hundreds of times before, and I already knew how it could help strangers connect. But watching it echo through this family helped me see it in a new light.
This time, I saw how it could deepen existing bonds.
I watched these people light up as they asked each other, one by one, smiling together as they reminisced. This grounded me more deeply in why I ask. I saw what the question could offer: an opportunity to reflect, a pause for joy, and a chance to feel seen. Sharing it with someone they loved gave that person the same gift. And just when this family thought they knew everything there was to know about each other, this gave them all a way to learn something new.
The question became less of a fun curiosity, and more like a quiet responsibility. I wanted more people to feel that sense of closeness. I wanted to give them a way to connect more deeply with the people they care about. And if all of that can come from one simple question, why wouldn’t I ask it? Shouldn’t I ask as many people as possible?
Later, when I flipped through their entries, I noticed something endearing: every single memory was about each other. Maybe they didn’t even realize it, but I’m sure they felt it. It wasn’t just sharing the question that helped them connect; it was learning that they were each other’s answers. They bonded over remembering those happy times together, and discovering how much those moments had meant to one another.
From the moment he boarded the plane, I’d known I wanted to ask Brian “The Question.” Not just because I thought he’d enjoy it—but because he’d shown me kindness on a day when I really needed it. At a time when I could barely muster a single smile, he gave me a genuine one. I wanted to give something back—to offer him a moment of happiness like he gave me. I’d hoped it might stay with him and resurface on a hard day, the way his kindness stayed with me.
(I believe I accomplished that, because Brian became the first and only passenger to hug me as he left the plane.)
Looking back, it became clear to me that this family valued connection above all else.
Maybe that’s why they were so close—and so happy. When they could be transactional, they chose to be personal. When someone asked for a bit of their time, they gave their undivided attention. And when they could’ve kept something for themselves, they chose to share it.
It’s easy to underestimate the impact we have on each other, but kindness is contagious. When we choose connection, we don’t just brighten the moment. We create a ripple effect. Brian and his family left more of an impact on me than they’ll ever know, and it has propelled me forward ever since.
They prioritized connection—and in doing so, they didn’t just make each other feel seen. They made me feel seen, too. And I hope that by telling this story, it also starts a ripple effect in you.
Smile, even when you're tired. Ask how someone’s really doing, even when you’re busy. Look up from your screen and into their eyes. These interactions matter. They might be the first—and only—kindness that person receives all day. You may never know how much that small gesture means to them, or how far the ripple goes—but you will feel the difference it makes in you simply by choosing it.
How about you?
I hope this story helps you become more aware of moments when you can leave a lasting impact. I believe Brian and his family radiated warmth because they prioritized connection. What’s one small way you can do that today—even if you’re tired or busy?
It could be as simple as taking out your headphones when someone approaches you, or holding the door open for the person who’s just a little too far away. Remember, there is always time to connect!
Think back to moments from your own life. Has a stranger’s kindness ever turned your day around? What happened, and why did it stick with you?
And as far as the question, who do you want to share it with? This is a great way to connect with someone more deeply! I encourage you to ask it today.
Share your thoughts below :)