Cecelia was making her way down the aisle, pad and pen in hand. She didn't appear any more joyful or warm than when Buddy saw her earlier. She still appeared annoyed at, well, everything. She started taking orders at the row in front of Buddy.

“Anything to drink?” Buddy heard her ask six times, routinely and in monotone, before she got to him.

“Well, hello, ma'am, and how are you today?” Buddy replied to the same question.

“I'm fine. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, a fifth cup of coffee would be great, thank you. Black, please. Don't want anything to pollute my coffee,” Buddy added with his continued smile.

Jon ordered a coffee as well and Cecelia was about to move on when Buddy asked her again, “Ma'am, are you sure you're okay? You seem a little bothered.”

Cecilia glared at Buddy. “Sir, other than having a couple of team members who aren't pulling their weight, and passengers who are preventing me from doing my job, I'm fine, as I clearly told you!”

“Well,” Buddy continued kindly, “If I can do anything to help, you know where to find me.”

“I don't need any help, thank you,” Cecelia said bluntly as she turned to the passengers across the aisle.

Buddy and Jon sat in silence for a few minutes as Cecelia moved to the rows behind them.

“Wow,” Jon finally said. “That's not a happy person.”

“She doesn't appear so, does she? Must be having a bad day.”

“Or a bad life,” Jon interjected.

“I don't want to take it that far. Remember, we can't judge because we don't know the whole story. One thing I know is that I don't know everything she's dealing with. What I also know is that she's making whatever is going on in her life worse.”

“How so?” Jon asked.

“From our brief encounter, I'd say she blames others for all of her problems, fails to take responsibility for herself, doesn't manage her emotions very well, and believes she doesn't need any help from others.”

“Wow. That's quite an observation.”

“Well, I could be wrong, but what I am right about is that all of those things I just listed are signs of low self‐awareness. She seems to be in a low boil that shows on her face as much as my nose shows on mine. She looks like she could start a fight in an empty house.”

Jon laughed. “Buddy, you're a friendly guy, but did you expect her to stop in the middle of doing her job and share her problems with you just because you asked if you could help? I think that's a little unrealistic, don't you?”

“Absolutely!” Buddy agreed. “But there is, ‘I don't need any help at this moment because you're a stranger and I'm busy, thank you,' and then there is, ‘I don't need help, period.' She seems to be the latter.”

Jon reflected on that.

Buddy continued. “And, again, I could be completely wrong about her, but what I believe I am right about is that people who are low in self‐awareness are completely wrapped up in their own world, sort of bullying their way through life, and they are convinced they don't need any help. On the other hand, people who are growing in self‐awareness, know that they do. We all need it. Like you! And me! Let's get back to that,” Buddy said. “And where were we? My mind gets jumping around like grease on a griddle.”

“We were discussing that I need to learn everything about me, my personality, strengths, and so forth, then decide what values are important to me and put those in my backpack because they will shape my backpack.”

“Good, good,” Buddy said.

“And now you were going to tell me what accepting my backpack means.”

“Yes, sir. Open the chute!” Buddy declared enthusiastically.

“What?” Jon asked quizzically.

“Maybe, ‘Let's rock and roll' would be a better euphemism for you,” Buddy said.

“I'm with you now.”

“Okay,” Buddy continued, “There are many things about ourselves we can change, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“But there are also several things we cannot change.”

“Like your height,” Jon interjected.

“Well, you can do that, too, with a very expensive and even more painful surgery.”

“What?” Jon said amazed.

“Oh, that's a story for when we're sitting around a campfire. Short version is that in a football game my oldest son cracked his growth plate in one leg which stopped that leg from growing. As a result, a few years later his legs were two different lengths. Had surgery to fix it. Craziest thing I ever saw.”

“Wow. How is he now?” Jon asked sincerely.

“Oh, he's gooder 'n gold. Decided never to play football again; took up lacrosse instead. A much safer sport,” Buddy laughed. “You only get body checked and whacked with sticks in those games!”

“I'm glad he's okay.”

“Me and his momma, too!” Buddy exclaimed. “But you're on the right track. There are many things that don't change. You can't change personalities. The psych folks have tried.

“Now mind ya,” Buddy looked squarely at Jon. “We shouldn't use our personalities as an excuse for bad behavior. I've seen that more times than Presbyterians take roll. Folks say, ‘Oh, I'm just a hothead; that's my personality.' I speak from experience on that one. More on that later.”

“Buddy,” Jon interrupted, “with your mind bouncing like grease on a whatever you said, I hope you're going to come back to all of those things you said we're going to come back to.”

“Me, too.” Buddy laughed. “Me, too. And . . . where was I?”

“You were . . .”

“Just kidding, Jon. My memory can feel like I'm climbing a greased pole but I'm good for something that happened 30 seconds ago. Usually.” Buddy continued to grin. “I was at things that don't change, like our personality. It is what it is. Even so, we are responsible for our behavior, always.

“In addition, we must accept our past. We can learn from our past and we can make amends for our past, but we can never change it.”

“I understand that one,” Jon interjected, reflecting on the email fiasco. “And I may need your advice on how to make amends for a mistake I made just this morning.”

“I figure we're going to get to all of that, too, Jon. That's going to be the game of life we're all going to play together. For now, I'm setting up the rules. Fair 'nuff?”

“Fair 'nuff,” Jon imitated.

“Jon, think of all of the things that we can't change about ourselves: the family we're born into—or lack of family as the case may be—where we were born; those things we are naturally gifted at doing; certain things we like and don't like; all of our past experiences, good and bad; and of course our physical characteristics, short of surgery, of course.” Buddy winked. “What I am coming to realize is those things we cannot change actually are our backpack,” Buddy said enthusiastically.

“Okay, you lost me.”

“I've lost myself a couple of times today, so you're in good company,” Buddy said with a laugh. “Bear with me. Remember, I just started thinking about this backpack idea today. And you're helping me clarify things even more, Jon! Much appreciated!”

“Happy to help,” Jon returned the laugh.

“What we have to accept, my friend, is all of those things about us that we cannot change. It's like the old serenity prayer that has been popularized by 12‐step groups: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and,” Buddy paused and looked at Jon.

“And the wisdom to know the difference,” Jon concluded.

“Yes, sir. Fact of life. Our personalities, our parents, our past, our certain peculiarities are all things we must accept. They help make us who we are. They are the backpack itself. We get a lot of say about what we put in it and what we want to change about its contents and what we want to take out of it. But our backpack is our backpack.”

“Hmmm.” Jon reflected.

“Think about this, Jon. One of the many lessons I've learned from a good buddy of mine named Truman is that the surest way to unhappiness is to wish you had someone else's life, someone else's parents or spouse or kids or success or money or past or whatever. We have to accept our stuff. Just like we have to take our own bag from the overhead bin when we leave the plane. We can't take someone else's. Ours is ours.

“To paraphrase: the surest way to unhappiness is to want someone else's backpack. We must accept and learn to celebrate our own backpack!”