Certain aspect of our lives can truly take a lifetime to figure out. Being fully content on a plane being one of them – I have spent numerous hours thinking how this can be solved. How I can sit comfortably graceful on an airplane and not be annoyed by the lack of space or the person next to me that might or might not stink or produce stink on board. To being able to sleep while sitting in a narrow seat and not touching the person next to me as well as being able to avoid pig feet when landing due to bloatiness. These are my questions. Unfortunately the option of flying first class has not yet been a part of my “jet setting status”.

This summer I flew from Seattle to Iceland via Icelandair – a direct flight, a brilliant new service being offered by the airline. I arrived at the airport and learned that my seat was NOT an aisle seat (a major mishap on my part), but a middle seat in the back of the plane. I simply told them that this was not an option for me and that I’m a very claustrophobic person who could possibly throw a tantrum. After much time convincing the airline staff that my self-claimed phobia was indeed serious I got not only an aisle seat, but an aisle seat by the entrance of the plane with a mass of leg space.

It’s on moments like these that I think to myself I must be a bit of a genius or maybe just a tad charming. This was good. I was now through security sitting at an airport eatery with a long pour of bad overpriced Chardonnay and something fairly edible, an ‘’enchilada’’ with orange cheese and olives from a can. I was happy and I couldn’t wait to get on that plane with an unread Paul Auster book, The Man In The Dark, and a large bottle of water to avoid the bloatiness from the flight and the ‘dinner’ I was offering to my body at that moment. Once I get to the gate I hear my name being called – they had changed my ticket to a window seat due to a more extreme claim for a an aisle by an elderly man – completely understandable, but I was still at the entrance row and so I didn’t make a big deal.

I took my seat and so did the person in the middle, a young tall gum chewing Icelandic man who had just emptied his cologne bottle on himself and had no idea that there were other people sitting next to him. He used both armchairs and his knees blocked my feet from taking advantage of the leg space. Once the door of the plane closed both of my knees were squished into his left leg. He didn’t budge. I placed my pillow, the flight attendant threw my Lanvin bag under someone else’s chair, and the gum chewer started to make monstrous snuffle sounds that was much like the snorting of a pig.

Seven hours and ‘The Man In The Dark’’ later, I saw my country through the window. Iceland is a bit of an odd place, but it’s beautiful and I love it. It’s my home. There’s a lot of space in Iceland for such a small population, which might explain why some of us don’t know how to share it.