A Letter to My Plus One

WELLBEING

May 12

I’ve been thinking about how to explain this to you.
Not in the rushed way we sometimes talk when I’ve just landed, half-awake, half-there…but properly. Honestly. In a way that lets you see what this life actually feels like from the inside. Because loving someone who flies isn’t a normal experience, and I don’t think anyone really prepares you for it.

You’re not just in a relationship with me. You’re in a relationship with a lifestyle that doesn’t follow the rules most people rely on. There will be days when I disappear for 12… sometimes 15 hours. No messages. No quick replies. No “thinking of you” texts. Not because I don’t want to reach for you, but because I physically can’t. In a world where everyone is constantly connected, I know how strange that must feel. Silence like that can easily be misunderstood. But for me, it’s just part of the job.

There will be moments I won’t be there when it matters most. You’ll walk into a wedding alone… answering questions, smiling, saying “my plus one is flying”, while everyone else has their person next to them. There might be a family Christmas where you sit at the table without me. An empty chair that shouldn’t be empty. A Saturday BBQ night with friends, where you go on your own…because I had to go to sleep early to be ready for a 4 am flight. And I know those moments don’t feel small when you’re the one living them.

And then I land. And I know maybe you’ve been waiting to talk. To connect. To laugh. To finally have me back. But what you often get… isn’t the best version of me. You get someone mentally drained. The kind of tired that isn’t only physical. The kind where even simple conversations feel like effort. So when I finally step out of that aircraft… I go quiet. Not because I don’t care. But because I’ve given everything I had on that flight.

Sometimes I’ll sleep for 10–12 hours and disappear again. Sometimes I’ll be awake at 3 am, completely out of sync with your world. And I know how confusing that can be for you. There will be many moments that might not make sense to you.

I might go for dinner with people I met that same day. Explore a new city with them. Laugh. Take photos. Post something that looks like I’m having the best time. And I need you to understand this part the most: That does not take anything away from what I feel for you.
This job throws you into intense, short-lived connections because that’s how we cope with the environment we’re in.

It’s not about replacing you. It’s about getting through it. If something like that becomes a reason for tension between us…then we’re not really arguing about a dinner, a missed message, or a story I posted. We’re trying to fight something much bigger. This lifestyle.
And I don’t want it to feel like you’re fighting me. Because this isn’t just what I do, it’s a part of who I’ve become.

But there’s something I need you to know. Even in the most beautiful places…even when I’m laughing, exploring, or sitting alone in a hotel room staring at the ceiling…I think about you. More than you probably realise. Because this job gives you incredible moments. But it also gives you this quiet emptiness…Where all you really want…is one person who feels like home.

So if this ever feels hard for you…I understand. It’s not an easy love. It asks for trust in ways most relationships don’t. But if you can see me clearly through all of this…if you can understand what this life really looks like…Then what we have isn’t fragile. It’s something very few people ever get right.

And I promise you this: No matter where I land… no matter how far I go…There is always a part of me that is looking for you.

Every crew member, ever.