I was not on Pan Am Flight 103 #2

This is the story of why I was not

The news this week of a decades-later arrest in the 1988 bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 derailed my plan to write sequentially about the unfolding of my Four Things I Always Wanted to Do. It told me I need to start with the story of how I fulfilled “trek in the Himalayas” with a trip to Tibet.

By to write about that trip, I need to write about intuition. About following the omens, watching for signs, listening to your Kūpuna, Ancestors, Spirit Guides, Guardian Angels, whatever name or names you choose to give to the guidance that is available to you. If you are not into “woo woo,” feel free to ignore. On the other hand, maybe thatʻs exactly why you should keep reading.

On December 21, 1988, following my intuition saved my life.

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As I mentioned in my Thanksgiving post, that year and the next I spent months living at the Hyde Park Hotel working on a big corporate acquisition. I was pretty comfortable by late December, having  become something of a pet guest with the staff. Our Morgan Guaranty Trust corporate rate entitled me to a cave of a room next to the elevator shaft; by this week in December I was nestled in a suite with four-poster bed and a balcony facing Harrodʻs Christmas decorations.

The previous week we could finally tell the press that RTZ and BP were in negotiations. The morning of December 21st, I checked out of the hotel, hugged Harry the doorman, and brought my carry on bag to the office, ready to fly home. I requested the secretary get me on a flight that evening. “Pan Am for the miles?”, she asked with a wink.

A thought popped into my head, accompanied by a distinctive tingling up my cervical spine, the one people must mean when they say the hair on the back of their neck stood up. I replied with that unbidden thought verbatim: “Around the holidays I prefer to fly on national airlines. Book the British Airways flight this time, thanks.”

When I landed at JFK hours later, my usual limo driver greeted me with a huge, uncharacteristic hug. “Merry Christmas to you too?”, I offered, confused. “Oh my god you donʻt know. Get in the car,” was his response. He went on to explain the dispatchers had been in a panic until they realized I was flying on British Airways; the scene at the Pan Am terminal was heartbreaking.

I shivered in the car. It was surely not the first time I had honored my intuition. But it was the first time I realized just how important doing so might be.

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I believe all of us have access to guidance, all of us have intuitive capacity. As with any other human trait there is a spectrum of natural talent. As with any other human trait, it is also a skill you can improve with attention and practice.

I was born on the high end of the intuitive spectrum. It runs in my maternal line. When I got home and called my parents the night Pan Am 103 went down, they were unconcerned. They thought I was still in London as I had not let them know I was headed home. My maternal grandmother was equally unconcerned, for different reasons. My parents reported she had insisted I was indeed traveling home that night, just not on the Pan Am flight.

Grams knew. It was not the first or the last time she “knew”. She lived with us off and on when she was on the outs with Grandpa Dan, and then permanently after he died. Periodically she would mope around the house sighing dramatically. “Whatʻs wrong, Grams?” “I dreamt about my cousin.” She would just wait for the phone call or letter with the bad news she already knew. It always came.

And this stuff about following the omens. I am not talking about the trick of focus and perception, like when you are considering buying a red F-150 and suddenly you see red pickup trucks everywhere. (Actually I wrote that line in my head while I was driving. I do most of my writing in my head while Iʻm driving. Then I pulled into the little gas station in Hawi and guess what was at the other pump. And as soon as I thought, weird, usually all I see are the silver Tacomaʻs like my ex drove, sure enough a red Tacoma pulled in right behind the F-150. “Ok, ok,” I said to Them in my head, “now youʻre just messing with me.”)

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The trip to Tibet in 1992 was the start of the big, over the top, cannot make shit up synchronicities in my life. I did not really learn about following the omens until 1993, but that is also a story wanting to be told. Getting trained to actively, confidently receive guidance started in 1994. And all of this continues in my life today.

I plan to write about all of it. For now, suffice it to say this. For someone who is a science geek, business person, data-driven empiricist, the synchronicities had to be really big at first to get my attention. Perhaps I still get those sometimes just because I take such delight in the total weirdness when they happen. Wouldnʻt you rather keep giving presents to someone who jumps up and down, throws their arms around you and plants a big kiss on your cheek, than to someone who mutters “you shouldnʻt have” and stuffs the gift into a closet? Apparently “They” feel that way too.