Dear Older Gentleman who texted that he got stuck sitting next to a “fat woman” on the plane,

I am aware that I am fat. Just as I am aware that open letters are a tiresome conceit. However, I happened to glance over right as you texted whomever that your “travel ordeals continue as I got seated next to a fat woman.” Frankly, I would rather hip-check open the plane’s emergency exit mid-flight than call you out for erasing my identity in real time as I watched you type the letters F-A-T-W-O-M-A-N.

So, here we are.

Being fat is no one’s fault but my own, so let’s start with the apologies. I’m sorry that I took those extra few seconds after you stood up to get what I needed out of my bag prior to stowing it, then prevented you from sitting back down while I fished for the seat-belt, pulling on the buckle to extend the band to the max while you scowled, before locking myself in my Lilliputian window seat for the rest of the flight. Clearly, it would have been better to sit immediately then, as you did, get up and down numerous times to go to the bathroom, retrieve your bag, take work out, put it away, take it out again, and, finally, snack on an odd assortment of ripe-smelling food you had squirreled in said bag.

I’m sorry that by perching one leg up on the side of the plane, stacking my hips to ensure that absolutely no part of my body encroached on yours, I entitled you to spread out, take up both armrests, and stick your skinny elbow into the small bit of open space I’d carved out. I’m sorry that it never occurred to you that between the tiny plane and large text on your phone’s Jitterbug-sized screen, I could see your text. But, more than anything, I am sorry that you view my body as your ordeal.

With every passing hour, there are more events, more trends, more things unprecedented to make sense of — relentless hurricanes in the Atlantic, Dreamers in limbo, a nation held hostage by their leader’s Tweets. These are ordeals. I am a person trying to get home to see her family. I am a woman who gets f*ck@d and f*ck@d over just as much now as I did 50 lbs. ago.

Outside of being your ordeal, I am also a teacher. Recently, we had a spirited discussion in class about the meaning behind this quote from James Baldwin’s “Notes of a Native Son,”

It was better to remember: Thou knowest this man’s fall, but thou knowest not his wrassling.

You may think I’m sharing these words to prove that, along with my flight-ruining body, there is a brain in my head. But, as I wish you had been, I’m sharing Baldwin’s words to remind myself to be kind. That perhaps some of your “travel ordeals” were actual ordeals. Or that your relentless ups and downs to the bathroom weren’t merely an annoyance but an indication of a health problem.

I have struggled for years to lose weight, and I’m certain I will continue to struggle for years to come. But I will do so to improve my own health, not for you. Because, while I do try to be kind, I also know that if I’d sat down next to you 50 lbs. ago, you wouldn’t have texted about your ordeal… You would have told me to smile.

“Best,”

6D