In the May edition of Innovation Espresso®, Pull Up the Window Shades – You’re Seven Miles High, I described a flight from my home in Buffalo to our family farm in northern Colorado. I lamented the fact that most passengers kept their window shades down—sometimes for the entire flight.
On my latest trip to the farm, I decided to fix that problem. Instead of booking my usual aisle seat, I reserved a window seat. This time, I was going to control the window shade—even if no one else wanted to look outside.
As I boarded the plane and approached my coveted seat—14A—I noticed that 14B and 14C were already occupied. I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment and squeezed into my seat.
Now, there are advantages and disadvantages to the window seat.
The advantage? You control the window shade and get to enjoy the view.
The disadvantage? If you need to get up during the flight, you have to disturb two other passengers.
I decided it was worth the risk.
I settled in and cautiously raised the shade. Only a handful of other window shades were open. My seatmates didn’t seem to mind.
Perfect, I thought. The best of both worlds—a good book and a spectacular view.
But my plan quickly unraveled.
As soon as the captain announced that electronic devices and tray tables could be used, my seatmate in 14B proceeded to unload what looked like their entire living room onto the tray table.
Out came an oversized Yeti cup. Then an iPhone. A charger. A hardcover book. An iPad. Earbuds. Snacks. A neck pillow.
I honestly didn’t think that much stuff could fit into such a small space.
But 14B pulled it off.
As the items continued to appear, another thought entered my mind.
I’m trapped.
There was no way I could ask this person to dismantle their living room if I needed to use the restroom.
So I made myself as small as possible against the side of the airplane and tried to read.
At least I could still look out the window.
But before long, I found myself watching 14B.
How could I not? I was practically sitting in their living room.
The routine became fascinating.
Adjust the phone.
Insert the earbuds.
Read two pages of the book.
Close the book—never to open it again.
Watch the iPad.
Check the phone.
Take a sip from the Yeti.
Eat a snack.
Then back to the phone.
Then a short nap.
Whew.
I became exhausted just watching all the activity while trying to read my own book and silently hoping I wouldn’t have to ask permission to escape to the restroom.
Fortunately, the flight landed early, and I deplaned without incident.
But one question stayed with me.
Why?
Why did someone surrounded by so many ways to be entertained never seem satisfied with any of them?
Later, while recounting my airplane adventure to my friend and colleague, Dr. Laree Kiely, she reminded me of the work of Ram Dass.
In 1971, Ram Dass published Be Here Now, a book that became one of the defining spiritual works of its generation. Its central message was wonderfully simple: the only place life actually happens is in this present moment.
That thought stayed with me.
Maybe what struck me most about 14B wasn’t the clutter on the tray table.
It was the endless search for something just a little more interesting than the present moment.
Then came an even more uncomfortable realization.
I wasn’t fully present either.
I wasn’t simply enjoying the view outside my window.
I was worrying about whether I would need to use the restroom.
I was silently judging 14B.
I had become just as distracted—only by different things.
Perhaps that’s the real lesson.
The opposite of Be Here Now isn’t simply being busy.
It’s allowing our attention to be pulled away from the only moment we actually have.
Whether it’s an iPhone, an iPad, a neck pillow, tomorrow’s worries, yesterday’s regrets, or the imaginary prison created by seat 14B, we can become so occupied with everything happening inside our heads that we miss the magnificent view just outside the window.
Maybe the real window isn’t the one beside seat 14A.
Maybe it’s the one that opens whenever we stop chasing the next distraction and simply pay attention.
One of Ram Dass’s observations especially resonated with me:
“The quieter you become, the more you can hear.”
During nearly fifty years of helping organizations solve difficult problems, I’ve discovered that creativity begins long before brainstorming.
It begins by paying attention.
Every breakthrough I’ve ever witnessed began with someone noticing what everyone else had overlooked.
Breakthrough insights rarely appear because we force them.
More often, they appear because we create the space to notice what has been there all along.
So I’ll leave you with a question.
How do you create the space to simply notice?
