Photo: © Depositphotos.com/olly18
Written by Victoria Welch

 

Is it better to know or not know?

To experience a delight, to be able to dial up that memory on command? To smile at a recollection – a taste, a scent, the way it felt? To turn it into a tool, a coping mechanism perhaps, during an inferior situation? “Remember that time when …”

My mind flits through an archive of moments. Some monumental, others inconsequential. Gravity tricking my body into feeling like it’s somehow falling up while skydiving. How pineapple fried rice smelled during my last first date. The adrenaline rush of (trying to) speak French while in France. My brother’s laugh during yesterday’s phone call. These moments bring me pleasure. I feel better having had them.

But … could it be better to keep the curtain closed? To keep the blinders on? If you don’t know what you’re missing – what could be – are you ever missing anything at all? Can you be content with life before?

Decision made. I settle back into my seat, turn my head, and close my eyes.

My certainty wavers. Again.

My eyes return to the button above my head. And after a cumulative 22 hours of transpacific air travel spread out over two flights with this airline – about 12 of which have been spent wrestling with this choice – I reach up and lightly press the button.

An attendant approaches. I smile.

“May I please have some ramen noodles?”

She nods and steps away, returning moments later with a familiar Styrofoam cup, light steam winding out from the top.

In-flight ramen is a thing.

There’s nothing fancy here. I don’t need fancy. After 11 hours in an economy-class plane seat, I don’t want fancy. But as I look at the cup, I know that this will affect every flight from this moment forward. It’s why I will feel disappointment – and a touch of disdain – each time I’m offered a tiny bag of peanuts, crackers, or pretzels.

I twirl up some noodles.

I take a bite.

At 39,000 feet, I discover the joy of an in-flight Cup of Noodles. And my life is better in the knowing.

 

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Victoria Welch is a writer based in Boston.