We do the shows for free

We flew Kiev -> Paris -> NYC and I am standing in the Global Entry line at JFK. There are a dozen or so ATM-sized terminals that scan your passport and finger prints and spit out a piece of paper with your picture on it, which you then hand to the immigration officer. One immigration officer, a dozen terminals. So if one person has bad info, or his paper says the wrong thing, the line gets held up. And right now it's held up.

People are impatiently checking their phones, cocking their heads and standing on their tip-toes to see why the line isn't moving. Funny, because the Global Entry line is already one-tenth the wait of the regular line, but human nature is such that we always want to optimize further.

As I am standing there, a Delta pilot finished at one of the machines with his paper and I let him cut. I am holding a saxophone case and he turns around and says, "is that an instrument?"

"Saxophone"

"I played when I was a kid ... it's tough."

I said, "well if it were easy everyone would do it probably."

He asked if I was in a band and I said I traveled with one.

"ahh that's cool."

I said, "the shows are fun, the travel is hard."

He laughed. He is a pilot, so he knows a thing or two about travel.

I said, "we do the shows for free, we get paid to travel. Probably the same as you ... you'll fly the planes for free, the hard part is the travel."

He laughed again and then the line opened and we went through.

In my mind, the nonsense of being a pilot is the security lines, shuttles, hotel check-ins, continental breakfasts, etc. Getting to the cockpit where he can sit behind the controls and flip the switches is the fun part.

We do the shows for free, we get paid to travel. Pilots fly the planes for free, they get paid to travel. Chefs will cook for free, they get paid to manage the kitchen. River guides will raft for free, they get paid to take out tourists. Photographers will shoot for free, they get paid to deal with clients. Etc.

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Julio Cortázar, the Argentinian-born writer, and 1960's Parisian flâneur, had an excerpt from his novel Hopscotch that went:

I do not believe the firefly gets any great satisfaction from the incontrovertible fact that he is one of the most amazing wonders on this circus, and yet one can imagine a consciousness alert enough to understand that every time he lights his belly this light-bearing bug must feel some inkling of privilege.

Privilege is key. There are certain parts of certain jobs that are a privilege, that offer an inherent satisfaction that the person is doing something not everyone gets to do. Finding those moments is key. Therein lies the joy of work. You shouldn't try too hard to find them, they come naturally, and if you look too hard you'll miss them.

Imagine flipping the switches of a Boeing 777 before take off, the industrial click. And that feeling in your stomach when the wheels lift off the ground. Just that one second. It's instant, like the glow of a firefly. That's the privilege that makes all the nonsense of travel worth it.