Saturday, May 23, 2015

About plastic spoons and other treasures



[This post was written on a long but wonderful flight which took me from one coast of the USA to another.]
I get very introverted and introspective on flights. Sometimes I watch mindless TV (the kind that I never watch on the ground because it seems like such reckless waste of time). Sometimes I stare into the beauty outside the window. I also think a lot and often write some of my thoughts down. And I revel in the fact that there is nobody I have to speak with. This time I am lucky enough to fly first class. And it is a long flight. So the comfort and luxury are especially felt and appreciated.
First Class. Let me paint the picture for you. I have a front-row window seat. The service is impeccable. I am constantly being asked if I am comfortable, I am being offered food, drinks and more blankets. I am reassuringly smiled at. There is plenty of leg-room; there is space for my personal items and an outlet to plug in my electronics. The food keeps coming in the perpetual cycle of all sorts of yumminess.

And I sit here in a stunned wonder of it all. And before you ask, yes, I have flown business and first class before. And, yes, I have eaten delicious food before (and even on airplanes, believe it or not). It's not the newness of this experience which makes me think and reflect. It’s the seeming ordinariness of this moment and at the same time its boundless extra-ordinariness. Contradiction? Not really.

I am an immigrant and a grateful naturalized citizen of the United States of America. I believe, I never completely shook off the "fresh off the boat" perception of life around me. Perhaps other immigrants have this experience as well. At least, I haven't shaken it off yet and it's been nearly quarter of a century since the time I have called U.S.A. my home. What is the “fresh off the boat” perception you ask? Here is an analogy: think of a child trying ice cream for the first time. Imagine that child’s smile. It’s sweet. It’s chilly. It melts on your tongue.  It’s something that the child has never seen or tasted or experienced before. It’s special.  Even if it tastes weird, it’s still good weird. To an immigrant, or maybe it’s just me, the experience for the new world with all of its special new experiences creates a kind of feeling of wonder and awe. And then overtime, even as the newness wears off, the raw “awe” morphs into a kind of knowing and appreciation which stay with you.
As I sit here, in this incredible plush reclined chair, with soft blankets covering my body (one over the shoulders and one on my lap), I am smiling, both inside and outwardly. The feeling of gratitude is running through my whole being. Memories flood my mind. These memories are old and a little worn-out. But they are still dear.

These memories are from nearly a quarter of a century ago. These memories are of me on another flight - Pan Am flight from Moscow to New York.  I am with my parents and grandparents. And the flight attendants bring us our lunch with gray melmac plastic utensils – spoons, forks and knives. I remember looking at all of it in such wonder. I don't think I have ever seen plastic utensils up until that point or experienced the concept of anything that was produced for "one time use", something disposable.

I remember the same gratitude flowing through my body. This thankfulness isn't for the trivial things. This feeling does not have materialistic roots. No. It is the gratitude for being allowed a small moment of luxury. Even if this is a perceived luxury (is there any other kind, really?) In a life of an immigrant (including those from the Soviet Bloc) necessity and hardship are the main characters of the play. Back in the Soviet society, "spartan" life was the norm; "essential-ism" by default not by choice, life without any “extras" was the reality for many, including my family.

I remember, on that Pan Am flight, after finishing my food, I cleaned the plastic utensils thoroughly, placed them back into the plastic bag they came in with, and tucked them safely in my pocket. It felt like I got a little treasure. I remember I kept touching my pocket and thinking: “it’s something. It's special.” I kept the utensils for a long time. I especially liked the plastic spoon. It looked gray and shiny like real silver, but it was light and clearly plastic. I decided at that time that getting that plastic spoon was a good omen. That America was going to be a good place to live, full of wonderfulness. And when I learned years later of the expression "to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth", it reminded me of my first “silver” plastic spoon and of one of the first of many treasures which awaited me. I guess some are born with a silver spoon; others get a plastic spoon on their first Pan Am flight and put it to good use.

And now sitting here now, on this flight, I am realizing that inside I am still that little girl. I am still that child, eating my proverbial ice-cream, marveling at the treasures of my life. Sometimes pinching myself and asking "could it really be? Am I truly here and experiencing this?" There have been many "spoons and forks" and all kinds of big and little treasures on my journey through life so far. Sitting here, now, thirty five thousand feet above ground, I am reflecting on these very weighty and earthy questions: have I appreciated each of these sweet (or bitter or expected or unexpected or painful or silver or plastic) wonders enough? Have I tucked them neatly in the "pocket" of my memories and life experiences? Have I given them meaning?

Sitting here now, gazing into the vastness of the skies, with plenty of "legroom" and my electronics fully charged, mentally, spiritually I connect with the loves I lost in the physical world. And I share this moment, this experience and memory with them.  Maybe this is what meditation and mindfulness experts call “being in the moment.” I really don't know. Maybe I am getting old and sentimental – entirely possible. What I know is this moment, what I am feeling right here and right now.
We are all travelers through time, through life. I guess, all I want to say is take your magic plastic spoon with you everywhere you go, make it a symbol of your gratitude, make it meaningful and let it remind  you of the sweetness and wonder of it all. 

5 comments:

Ilona said...

Such a beautiful, thoughtful and inspiring post, Rina! I loved reading it. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and memories.

Rina Koshkina said...

Awww, thank you so much

rmgclu said...

What a lovely sentiment to share Rina. Those of us lucky enough to know you understand how truly special you are and how generous of spirit you have always been. Thank you for always sharing and for being such a wonderful source of strength and inspiration.

Rina Koshkina said...

Thank you so much

Fanny Lawren 梵婗 said...

Yes, I do have the "little plastic spoon." Glad to know I am not the only one.