I was journeying from Seattle to Charlotte for my cousin’s nuptials. Tension filled me as my outfit wasn’t fitting correctly and my companion canceled at the last moment. I hoped for a peaceful flight at minimum.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Thumping against my seat began before takeoff. Initially, just small bumps, as if someone was adjusting their position. I dismissed it. Then it evolved into consistent tapping. Regularly timed. Looking back, I expected to see a youngster. Instead, I saw a mature individual. Approximately in his late twenties, hood covering his head, wireless earbuds inserted, totally absorbed elsewhere.

I attempted the courteous backward-lean with a smile. No response. Next, I tried a partial turn with a clear “Pardon me?” Still nothing. He merely stared as if I’d interrupted his listening experience.

When the cabin crew member approached with beverages, I subtly mentioned the issue. She agreed to address it—but when she spoke with him, he simply dismissed it with, “Not me.” As if I couldn’t recognize sensations against my own chair.

The disturbance persisted. And notably—the individual in the window position next to him? Appeared quite uncomfortable. Kept giving him sidelong glances as if privy to information but reluctant to intervene.

Approximately sixty minutes before arrival, my patience vanished. I rose, turned completely, and stated—louder than intended—”Can you please stop this?”

That’s when the window-seat passenger suddenly revealed something that shocked me.

He stated, “He’s experiencing withdrawals.”

Everyone nearby went silent. Even the person behind me, the kicker, looked up as if surprised by this public disclosure.

I felt puzzled. “Withdrawals from what?” I asked, my tone considerably gentler now.

“Medications,” window-seat person whispered. “He informed me before boarding. Mentioned losing his luggage, and he’s attempting to endure it.”

Truthfully—I felt multiple emotions. Initially guilt. Then an unusual fear. Followed by irritation again, because this explanation didn’t justify why he needed to kick my seat as a coping mechanism.

Nevertheless, I returned to my position and remained silent momentarily. I’m not unsympathetic. I understand addiction is genuine and untidy and intricate. But honestly, I simply wanted to reach Charlotte intact without my back serving as percussion.

Shortly after, the same cabin attendant passed again. I attracted her attention and quietly shared what the window-seat passenger had revealed. She acknowledged with serious expression, then moved to the rear. Minutes later, another crew member came and positioned herself beside the man. She communicated calmly, evidently prepared for such circumstances. He finally confessed he was detoxifying and hadn’t rested for two days. Mentioned traveling to stay with his sibling in Concord, attempting to improve his circumstances.

I remained seated, gazing at the chair ahead, uncertain about my feelings regarding the situation.

Then something unexpected occurred. He lightly touched my shoulder. I rotated, anticipating an unpleasant exchange.

“I apologize,” he uttered. Softly. Sincerely. “Didn’t intend to direct my frustration toward you.”

I accepted his words as truth.

His identity was Eron. Not spelled like Erin. Eron. He disclosed this information after landing, while passengers waited to exit. Mentioned maintaining sobriety for twenty-one days, but misplacing his medication and being confined in an airport throughout the night had nearly defeated him.

The passenger by the window, named Vincent, assisted with his luggage while disembarking. Eron clasped my palm before departing and remarked, “Thank you for not completely venting your anger at me. I would have understood if you had.”

I lack knowledge about his subsequent experiences. Yet he enters my thoughts occasionally.

The reality is, we rarely comprehend neighboring individuals’ struggles. I was consumed by personal concerns—wedding preparations, romantic disappointment, etcetera. However, that individual? He simply attempted to survive each moment.

This doesn’t justify his actions. But occasionally it benefits us to hesitate before reacting intensely. One never recognizes when someone might simply require additional forbearance instead of confrontation.

I still react nervously when someone disturbs my airline seat. But presently, I reconsider before presuming rudeness.

Nobody truly knows.

If this narrative prompted reconsideration, please approve or distribute it. We require additional compassion during flights—and everywhere besides.