In the Middle

It was on a flight from Los Angeles to Denver that I was lucky enough to get a front end seat (not necessarily first class, for Southwest notoriously simply packs people like sardines). Being the type of traveler that enjoys getting off the airplane as soon as possible, it was an opportunity I could not pass up. However, there was only one catch: my neighbor was a mother and two small children. At first glance, the benefits of getting off the airplane and ditching the rest of the passengers seemed to tremendously outweight the prospect of sharing a two hour flight with small children. Unfortunately, I was sadly mistaken. Within moments, I was caught in the ramblings of a 4 year old girl who claimed could speak Spanish, a mother who spoke at the level of her 4 year old daughter, and a baby who cried at will. I am not particularly against parenting. In fact, I am a firm believer that children are wonderful gifts that will one day build a better world. Regardless, I immediately moved to the closest seat I could find and made a middle seat (away from any children) my Home Sweet Home.

I was willing to trade an aisle seat for a middle seat. It was at that point that I had two epiphanies. First, I hate children. In today’s society, who really has the time and energy to care for other people’s children? Second, and more importantly, being in the middle sucks.

Virtually everything about being in the middle stirs strong emotions of discomfort and anxiety (unless, of course, you are ditching a crying baby). For example, sitting in between two people in an airplane. You might feel claustrophobic, cramped in space, and having your personal space deliberately invaded. How about a mid life crisis, where you look back at life and begin to question our selfworth and accomplishments? And what about that war in the Middle East? It seems like sometimes the only thing we really enjoy is looking up to the heavens and throwing our middle fingers. Being interrupted in the middle of something? Being a middle child?