How to Turn Everyday Life into Something Extraordinary
Episode 6 of the podcast
Estimated reading time: 13 minutes (Or watch the video!)
I rolled up to the gate in Baltimore, ready for another ordinary day of work. First, we’d fly 5½ hours to Los Angeles, and then another 3 up to Seattle. Those hours don’t drift by for Flight Attendants. They’re packed with tasks. Every flight is a different checklist, and the longer the flight, the longer the list. It was going to be a very long day at the office.
I stowed my bag, did my safety checks, welcomed 150 people aboard, helped close overhead bins… Conducted the safety demo, checked seatbelts, answered questions… Distributed headphones, poured coffee, served breakfast, picked up dishes, and disposed of trash.
Finally, I penciled a break into the checklist.
After taking a deep breath, I sat down and glanced out the window. It had been at least 5 hours since I’d woken up, but the sky was still dark, making it even more difficult to recharge. So, I did what we all do in order to stay alert.
I started chatting.
While I could’ve gone with the standard unwritten script of small talk for crew members, that was akin to an Americano—plain, predictable, and watered down for mass consumption. What we needed was an emotional espresso.
“Hey, Pricilla,” I asked my crew member. “What’s a song that reminds you of a happy memory?”
Thankfully, she welcomed this bold flavor of conversation. Pricilla happily shared how “Fugidinha” was the song she’d danced to in a parking lot with her first love, and how “We Weren’t Born to Follow” by Bon Jovi had gotten her through some tough times.
After some invigorating discourse about music (and life, and love), I went to the back and asked Vicky. She chose “How Much I Feel” by Ambrosia, because she remembered dancing to it as a child. For her, it recalled a time when things were simple and innocent—before life got complicated.
As I walked through the cabin, I noticed a young lady quietly drawing on an iPad, her ears obscured by oversized headphones. Everyone else was either asleep or fixated on their seatback screens, but she was alert—and creative. She seemed like the kind of person who might enjoy being interrupted by a thought-provoking question from a curious stranger. So that’s what I did.
With the journal in hand, I smiled and knelt down at her seat. She looked up and smiled back as she removed her headphones. “Hi,” I said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I see you like creative projects, and I wanted to show you mine.” I handed her the book. “I like to ask people to write about songs that remind them of happy memories. Would you like to share one?”
Her name was Emma, and she was delighted to contribute. She chose “Mamma Mia” by ABBA, because it reminded her of her childhood. “My mom and I loved this group, and would sing and dance to a lot of their songs, but this one always stuck with me!”
Then, I asked the pilots. The captain’s song was “Let the Good Times Roll” by The Cars. It came out in 1984—his senior year of high school—and that was their class song. Hearing it always brings him great memories. Our First Officer chose “Jungle Boogie,” because he always had fun playing it in his high school marching band.
Later, another passenger smiled as he told me about “Oogum Boogum,” by Brenton Wood. He’d been riding in a car with a friend when it came on the radio, and it immediately lifted their spirits. “Great feel-good song,” he said.
At some point, the daylight finally caught up with us.
The captain announced we’d soon be flying over the Grand Canyon, and the best views would be on the right. One man seated on the left side of First Class stood up to glance out the windows across the aisle. He strained to see over his neighbors without disturbing them, and after a few moments, he sat down in defeat.
I approached and whispered that there were some empty rows in the back, if he wanted to get a better look. Then, I motioned for him to follow me.
We strolled briskly to the back of the plane, keenly aware that the view beneath us was fleeting with every step.
We weren’t the only ones buying up the valuable real estate in the back of Economy. Vicky and a few passengers were already settling into in the empty rows, their eyes fixed on the scenery. When they noticed us, they adjusted their positions to give us an unobstructed view. The man and I stood quietly in the aisle, peering over their shoulders.
None of us were supposed to be there, per se, and none of us had to be. We were simply drawn by the captain’s promise of an amazing view—and, boy, did he deliver. The striations of orange and red stretched as far as the eye could see, and every ridge glowed a slightly different color as the sunrise crawled between the crevices. The gleaming horizon below us was an endless expanse that we all knew would end in a matter of minutes.
One passenger shook their head in disbelief and whispered, “It’s incredible.” The rest of us either nodded or m-hmm’ed in agreement.
Vicky looked back at me and asked if I’d ever visited. I said technically, yes—once, when I was 11, on a cross-country road trip with my family.
“We stopped for a few hours, but couldn’t stay for longer. I also didn’t fully appreciate it because I didn’t grasp the magnitude.”
One of the passengers turned and said his story was the same. He’d always hoped to make it back there someday to experience it more fully, but maybe this was the closest he’d ever get.
For a second, I took my eyes off the canyon, and instead glanced around at all the people enjoying it with me. I was touched that a handful of strangers—with nothing in common but the same sliver of sky—had all paused what we were doing just to witness something beautiful. We were the ones who’d looked up from our screens—the ones who'd taken five minutes to walk over, simply to appreciate the beauty while we had the chance. We didn’t just share a view; we shared a perspective.
After we’d all returned to our designated places, the same man came to the galley and asked for a drink. I took that opportunity to ask for his song. He said “Particle Man” by They Might Be Giants, because he played the record for his kids once, and they all laughed at it together. Now, it always makes him smile.
I shared that one of my songs holds a similar memory, but from the other side. When my sister and I were little, our dad once played his record of “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. We had been playing in our bedroom at the time, but when we heard the loud, energetic melody booming from the living room speakers, we both ran out excitedly. We took turns stepping up onto our dad’s big white sneakers so he could dance us around. That was the first time we’d ever heard the song. That’s what we knew it for. So every time we’ve heard it since then, we remember that impromptu dance party, and the smiles and laughter it brought out of us all.
After several hours of these heartwarming interactions, our plane finally arrived at LAX.
I’d completed my first lengthy checklist of the day. “Talking with people” hadn’t been on it, but it had made the list enjoyable. Now, I had an hour until my next flight—and I wanted that time to be enjoyable, too.
I scoured the terminal in search of anyone carrying an instrument, thinking they’d be the easiest to talk to about music. But gate after gate, crowd after crowd, all I saw was traditional travelers. No guitar cases, no violins, no trumpets… Nothing.
And then I heard the piano.
It’s perched at the edge of the landing where the security line funnels up the stairs and into the terminal. In the back of my mind, I knew it was there, because I had once used it to play “The Song.” (You know, the one my ex had written about me, that I got hooked on.) But that day, a young man was playing—and doing a remarkable job.
The piano in Terminal 7 of LAX (Photo by the author)
A small crowd had already formed, so I joined them—not only in anticipation of asking The Question, but to enjoy the music. After 20 minutes, I had soaked up every detail of my surroundings, including the configuration of pockets on his adjacent backpack. There was also a computer on top adorned with musical stickers. One was a ukulele, and another was some indiscernible word in the shape of a guitar.
I peered below at the travelers making their way through security. They looked—and probably felt—like little ants marching through their colony. But in every single line, at least one person was looking up at the musician, and smiling. The escalator from the security line culminated right next to the piano, and whenever someone reached the top, they would smile and look over at him again. They’d just had the best airport security experience of their entire lives.
This man was unknowingly giving us all a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. It’s a shame he was so focused on the keyboard that our smiles were invisible to him, but I saw a universal display of admiration and gratitude for the beauty he was putting into the world.
At some point, he glanced around behind him to see if anyone was waiting for a turn. “Does anyone else wanna play?” He asked. “I’m just passing the time, but feel free to jump in.”
I spoke for all of us and said we were simply there to appreciate his talent.
Then he checked his watch, and announced that his flight was boarding in a few minutes. He got up to pack his bags, and we applauded. He waved it off and said, “Ah, I’m not that good,” at which we all chuckled in disbelief. (Turns out his mom had been a concert pianist who made him practice for hours a day.)
“Now she is good,” he said. “I’m just okay.”
“Well, by that standard, I’m absolutely pitiful,” I laughed.
The crowd began to disperse, including a woman who had been standing beside me. Just before the musician rushed off, I asked him The Question. The woman, having overheard, then turned around and came back toward us.
“What’s this for?” She asked in a smile of intrigue. “Are you working on a thesis?”
She wasn’t the first to ask that. Some people assume there must be an official reason behind why I’m doing this, but there’s no purpose other than my own curiosity.
I responded, “Oh… it’s just me being an anthropologist at heart.” And somehow, that felt more accurate than any other way I’d explained it.
The musician (whose name was Tyler) chose a song from his “feel-good” playlist. He said that’s what he listens to when he wakes up because it puts him in a good mood, and “Broke” by Samm Henshaw is one of his favorites. As he jotted it down, I asked for an autograph, too—for when he’s famous someday.
When he handed me the book, I pointed out his music stickers and asked if he played any other instruments. Yes, he played the ukulele—and so did the woman standing there with us! Her name was Jen, and apparently both she and Tyler had once lived in Hawaii—on the same island, no less.
Tyler scurried off for his flight, and Jen shared a song before heading to her gate. It was, “Hey Ya” by Outkast. It had played at the afterparty of an event she was working, and everyone hit the dance floor when it came on. “One of those fun, carefree moments,” she said.
A few minutes later, it was time for my flight to Seattle.
One friendly passenger—a pilot from another airline—came and chatted with us after lunch service. Shortly thereafter, the captain announced that Crater Lake would be visible on the left. Another geographic wonder to witness just outside the window? I wasn’t about to pass it up!
The pilot was sitting on that side of the plane, and his seatmate was up and about, so the window seat next to him was vacant. I asked if I could look over his shoulder to admire the view. He obliged happily, and we enjoyed the glimpses we caught through the clouds.
Later, I approached him with the book and asked if he’d like to be part of my music project. He spent a while pondering with the journal, then returned it and said, “That might not be what you’re looking for. It’s not necessarily a happy memory, but I identify with the meaning of the song the more I hear it, and that’s what makes it happy for me.”
The track in question was “It Was a Very Good Year” by Frank Sinatra, and his entry suggests that it has long helped him appreciate every season of life:
Time flies by way too fast. Goes from youth to old age in about 3½ minutes. Very powerful. I’m currently 59 and found the song at 35. The older you get, the more relevant it becomes.
When I got to the hotel room that night, I sighed in both exhaustion and contentment.
The sigh was standard procedure after such a long work day, but the contentment was not.
I flipped through the journal to note some details about each interaction before the memories faded. All in all, there were 10 entries. That’s where the contentment came from, I realized. It wasn’t just the fact that I’d made considerable progress on the journal. It was knowing each entry signified a genuine connection.
Sure, this day had been notable in some ways… I got to witness amazing scenery, as well as incredible talent, and I bonded with people about music during each flight. But what made this day so special was that I’d made a point of sharing all those experiences with others.
What could have been an average day felt so much more meaningful because of the connections I’d made throughout. Feeling connected to the world around me, and the people around me, made everyday life feel extraordinary.
Life doesn't have to be extravagant to be amazing. The routine becomes exponentially more interesting when you choose to become an active participant in your world. I’ll probably never see any of those passengers again, but I know we all appreciated those moments together—and now, they all live on in the music.
I used to cringe whenever I saw that piano at LAX. It was nothing but an embarrassing reminder of my addiction to “The Song.” Now, it reminds me of how an ordinary day can become magical if you approach it with intention.
Tyler was playing a song that didn’t have any lyrics, with a melody he was making up as he went along. That made it a musical Rorschach test. It could mean whatever I wanted it to—and I could call it whatever I wanted to. This is the meaning I ascribe to it, and that’s why it’s one of my happy memories. I’d call it “An Extraordinary Day.”
How you can apply these principles
(First, here’s a playlist of all the songs from this day!)
One thing that made life feel like a much richer experience that day was being more aware of, and intentional with, my surroundings. A big part of that was just taking the time to admire beauty. Here are some ways you could do that, too:
When you lay down at bedtime, start asking yourself what’s the most beautiful thing you saw that day. Having that in mind will help you look for the beauty around you. It might not even be scenery; sometimes, it could be a moment you experienced, or an interaction you witnessed.
You can take this even further by keeping a notebook in your nightstand and tracking these observations every night. Then you can read it every now and then, and be reminded of all these things that made your life a little richer.
Set an alarm or reminder for the middle of your day—or maybe the part where you always start to run out of energy—and take 5 minutes to just walk around and observe your surroundings. Regardless of the setting, or how it might make you feel, what’s something you like about it? What’s the most beautiful thing about that place specifically?
Besides just observing what’s already there, you could also be intentional about improving your surroundings. At the risk of sounding materialistic, find a way to make your space more beautiful or interesting.
Maybe it’s buying a houseplant, which you’ll start to literally care for.
Maybe it’s getting a poster, or a knick-knack, or anything that serves no purpose other than to make you smile. Beauty is a purpose in and of itself! (That’s a lot of what music does for us!)
And speaking of music, decorating your time is just as important. Maybe you could listen to an album you’ve always loved but haven’t played in a while. Or buy yourself an album you’ve always wanted to own. Or get tickets to a concert from one of your favorite bands, so you can experience their music differently.
The other thing that made that day so special was that I went out of my way to connect with people through asking this question. But you don’t have to ask something so personal in order to do that. Here are some other ideas:
One of my favorite approaches is to start a conversation by asking someone how their day is going on a scale from 1 to 10. It’s fun, it’s playful, and it’s personal without being imposing. And it can go deeper if you both want it to! Either way, you will walk away feeling like you’re an active participant in the world around you—and they will walk away feeling like someone cares about them as a human. That could even become the highlight of their day.
Look for something that stands out a person, and share what you admire about it. Some people wear “conversation pieces,” but others might just have an interesting feature or behavior. You don’t have to use this to start a whole conversation; it could just be a simple, “Hey, I love your shirt!” but again, you’ll both feel more connected because of that comment.
Just smile and say hi before conducting a transaction! It’s alarming how many people don’t do this! Before you order your coffee, smile and say hi to the barista. (Or before you take someone’s order, smile and say hi.) We all go through several business transactions throughout the day, and just taking a moment to acknowledge that you’re both human can really make a huge difference.
What are some other ways you can think of to connect more with the people and places around you? Please share them in the comments!