Finding hope in the surprising, most obvious of places…

We pulled up to the gate entrance at the airport in Toronto and I took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow itself, behave already. It’s not like I’ve never flown by myself before, traveled alone for long periods of time. But COVID changed our world, changed me. Instead of running toward departure gates, I’d grown more comfortable staying home, watching the world from behind my computer screen. And yet, here I was, preparing to board a plane to take me far from the safe cocoon of home, straight into a hot den of COVID.

A photo shoot in our Vegas showroom, I’d planned every minutia of detail, from writing the script to arranging for security passes to ordering the security-approved meals. I’d even prepared for the strong possibility I’d be stopped at the border. I imagined angry, accusing eyes above a mask, staring me down. Pardon me, Ma’am but don’t you realize we’re in the middle of a pandemic?

Until the moment we pulled up to the gate, I was confident I could handle the very few things left to chance.

But when the car stopped, all of my fears about the virus raged forward. What if my belief that I had antibodies simply wasn’t true. What if I was putting myself at risk of catching the virus again? Considered a COVID Long Hauler, getting sick again scared me more than I wanted to acknowledge. What if, despite all my planning and preparing, something terrible happened while I was in Vegas and I ended up at a hospital, face to face with the virus?

Despite my fears, my passage through customs was uneventful, anticlimactic actually. Temperature checks, yes, intimidating inquisition, not so much. Instead of accusing eyes, kind ones greeted me, ushering me gently to the next checkpoint.

I’d never seen the airport so quiet, so few people, so devoid of the smells of a multitude of cuisines being cooked simultaneously. Chairs stacked around the perimeter of the darkened eatery, dystopian, almost haunting. In an international airport, only one store remained open for sundries. I strapped my backpack to my rolling case and began to walk – and talk. I called my boss, my daughter, my husband and a few colleagues. The regular, rhythmic clicking of my heels, a metronome measuring the tempo of our conversations. Deal with it, I told my feet. For me, walking was the only way to keep my brain safely away from the mounting anxiety threatening to drag me under.

I’ve always been a nervous flyer but the virus had shoved that concern into a back corner of my mind. As the plane’s wheels lifted from the runway and I felt the familiar pull of the aircraft as it surged upwards, my mind raced ahead to what awaited me in Vegas. Even in normal times Vegas spins on it’s own set of axis points, different from the rest of the world in so many weird and wonderful ways.

When I arrived in Vegas, I resolved to calm my nerves by refusing to look ahead with worry. One step at a time, follow the process, practice patience. When the shuttle bus driver reached for my luggage, I held my hand up and shook my head. In a world where COVID can linger anywhere, his eyes told me he understood, chivalry be damned. Arriving at the hotel, I opted for self-park – keep my things to myself – and despite the isolation of the parking garage, I felt safe. As safe as you can feel alone in an underground parkade, parked beside a car that obviously doubled as someone’s home.

I chose to stay at a new-to-me hotel on the strip and as soon as the elevator doors opened to the lobby, I knew it was a mistake. Nothing was familiar – a me problem – and there were far too many people in the casino, at the bar, walking around.  A woman spilled her winning chips on the floor in front of me, her mask hanging off one ear. While she sloshed her drink and melted down, toddler style, a young family with a child in a stroller gave her wide berth. Typical Vegas casino sights but startling in a COVID world. I kept my head down and navigated to the check-in counter, mind the process, step by step I reminded myself.

The woman who checked me in, greeted me and even though I couldn’t see her whole face, I could see her smiling eyes shinning above the mask. She offered me a sweet upgrade to celebrate my recent birthday. I felt the notches in my neck loosen – a little. And later in my room, answering the door for room service, another set of kind eyes, a smile (hidden but still recognizable) behind a mask.

I miss faces, I realized that first night. Don’t get me wrong, I spend a lot of time on video meetings, but I missed interactions with people I’ve never met before. We humans are conditioned to search out faces, seeing them in clouds, on a plate of bacon and eggs, everywhere we look. Maybe it gives us comfort, maybe we just like seeing a reflection of us in something else. When we meet someone new, whether we’re introverted or extroverted, there’s an element of surprise, something new we kind of sort of recognize but need to interact with to learn how to communicate. In 2011, Jeffrey and Rhodes wrote in the British Psychological Journal that our need to see faces is an important neurological mechanism. Our faces “convey a wealth of information that we use to guide our social interactions.”

Interactions with strangers is one of the things I’ve always loved about travel. The chance to meet someone new, learn their face language and find connection. I enjoy my solitude – especially after a long business trip – but oh how I adore meeting someone and spending time just chatting and learning how they see the world, how they navigate through it. Not traveling for the past 10 months, not really even leaving my home that much, has left a void in my world I didn’t know was missing until now.

Walking into World Market the next afternoon was another reminder of the new world we’d entered. Bereft of the busyness of people and cars, it mirrored the Toronto airport, a sad, lonely ghost town. At the entrance to the newly opened design center, a gentleman sat behind a plexiglass shield and explained the new safety measures, temperature checks and symptom assessment. We stood for a moment and chatted about the beauty of the new design center but also the quietness of the hallway where he sat. He laughed and agreed it was quiet – but not lonely. Every morning he arrives at 6 am and at 6:45, the sun crests the mountains, filling the hall with a glorious burst of sunshine, the walls shimmering, the ceiling lights casting long, elegant shadows. I listened to him describe the beauty of that brief moment of joy each morning – a moment that clearly made the solitude of the rest of the day bearable. As he painted the picture for me, his deep laughter filled the quiet hall where we stood. I told him I wanted to see what he saw, to be part of that beautiful moment with him and we agreed, I would arrive the next day at 6:45.

The next morning, I arrived late and began to apologize for missing the moment. Shhh, he said and pointed up. See, you can still see remnants of the sunburst trailing along the ceiling. Step over here, he said, and look out the windows, can you see the mountains in the distance? I could see them and they were beautiful. Our eyes smiled at each other, enjoying the simple beauty of a found moment, together. Masks firmly in place, no hand shaking, thank you very much, but connection achieved.

During my visit to Vegas, a local hospital declared a state of disaster, citing a surge of COVID patients quickly filling ICU’s. I focused on the filming in our showroom, trying to ignore what I couldn’t control. I stayed off the strip at night, out of restaurants, away from danger. Room service won over sitting in a restaurant, close enough to hear others talk (or sneeze). The glamor of travel at it’s finest.

Returning to Toronto was more of an adventure than leaving it. A busy Vegas departure gate was all too quickly replaced by the craziness of a stopover in the travel hub of Charlotte airport, where travel has resumed at a frantic pace. Boarding my connection home, my COVID test in hand and temperature checked, I was approved to fly. The woman behind me sounded the alarm with a “higher than normal temperature” but the gate attendant didn’t think it high enough to prevent her from boarding. Thankfully I sat at the front of the plane as she took her seat near the rear. And we wonder why the virus isn’t slowing…

A mandatory 14-day house arrest and quarantine greeted me when I arrived in Toronto. For someone who relies on walking and fresh air to maintain a healthy mental attitude, it was a heavy personal cost. But one I’ll happily pay again when the opportunity to travel arises again. I’ll be there with my bags packed, my anxiety checked. Why? Because I miss faces.