Yesterday, I did something that I have never done before.
And perhaps has never been done in all of human history.
I slept-walked on an airplane.
I was flying back from Ohio, where I had performed the night before. Just prior to takeoff, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, as I often do. A quick nap until I can remove my laptop from the bag and get some work done.
When I awoke, I was standing at the rear of the plane, in the space just outside the restroom. A flight attendant, still seated and buckled, was asking if I needed anything. She sounded frustrated.
“Sir, the seatbelt sign is still on. You’re supposed to be in your seat. Is there a problem?”
It took me a moment to figure out where I was and realize what had happened. I sleepwalk often, so I’m accustomed to that moment of confusion when I wake up and find myself someplace other than my bed.
I’m usually seated on my couch, my dining room table, or my desk. Sometimes just standing in the kitchen by the sink or in my closet, oftentimes fully dressed for work. A couple times in my life, I’ve found myself behind the wheel of my car, dressed and ready to go.
And I’ve certainly gone sleepwalking in places other than my home before, but never before on a plane.
So it took a moment for me to get my bearing, but finally, it dawned on me that I had been sleepwalking.
“Sir, are you okay?” the flight attendant asked, sounding more concerned.
“I’m fine,” I told her. Then I leaned in and said, “I think I was just sleepwalking.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “I do it a lot.”
“Do you need to use the restroom?” she asked.
I told her I didn’t and returned to my seat. After buckling my seatbelt, I leaned over to my seatmate, who I had been chatting with during boarding, and said, “You’re not going to believe this. I was just sleepwalking.”
He laughed. “I wondered what you were doing. Isn’t that dangerous?”
I explained that even though I was sleepwalking, I wasn’t moving about the world unaware of my surroundings or out of control. When I’m sleepwalking, it’s like a second operating system in my brain turns boots up, very similar to the primary operating system that runs most of my life. It allows me to move through the world much the same way I do when I’m awake. I can get dressed, eat, empty the dishwasher, and even write while sleepwalking. I’m more likely to get stuck somewhere, like behind the wheel of my car or sitting on the couch, staring at a TV that I never turned on, and oftentimes, it’s difficult to discern a person who is awake from a person who is sleepwalking.
In fact, I’ve had many conversations with Elysha while sleepwalking, and more than once, she’s asked me if I’m sleepwalking while we’re talking.
Once, in the middle of the night, I answered a phone call from the veterinarian, who was keeping our dog, Kaleigh, overnight for observation. Something had gone terrible wrong. I awoke Elysha, explained the situation, and together, we decided to approve spinal surgery on Kaleigh, even though the surgery was unlikely to be successful and would cost thousands of dollars.
We were awake for more than half an hour, discussing things before calling the vet back to approve the surgery.
I have no recollection of any of it. I was sleepwalking.
Elysha had no idea.
So no, it wasn’t dangerous to sleepwalk on the plane, except that I was supposed to still be seated. I wasn’t going to try to open an outer door or storm the cockpit just because I was sleepwalking.
Still, it was unnerving.
I decided to remain awake and read my book.
