The Diamond Elite Flight Status Grindset

Visualization is key.

Photo by Samuel’s Photos on Unsplash

10,000 hours toiling the back pages of Google Flights — that’s a start. To achieve Diamond Elite flight status you have to dedicate your life. I’ve flown 300 flights this year. I know what day it is. That’s what it takes.

Grounddwellers will mock, saying “Isn’t that a lot of money for a few seat upgrades and better snacks? You’re not even leaving the airport between flights? Don’t you care about the environment?” I say you can’t have a carbon footprint if your feet never touch the ground.

No one of my ilk should have been able to get here. I’m no legacy, I’m no Tommy Delta. I had to crawl my way to the front of the cabin. I was birthed into a broken duffel by a stowaway mother who didn’t speak the language of Qualifying Miles. And I’m no charity case either. Some propeller head paraded up to the cockpit and handed some commemorative wings? No. I earned mine. I had to take them! I was seven when I pinned a scrappy Southwest attendant to the bar trolley for my souvenir. A lifetime ban is a small price to pay for respect.

Probably think I have a chip on my shoulder. You’re damn right: It’s Miss Vickie’s. We have those up here. I get to choose two, sometimes three snacks from the basket. Try and knock it off. I’ll drop your ass back to 87E with a cricked neck no travel pillow could relieve.

My culture: Aviation. My creed: TSA. My hero: Captain Sully? No, Iggy Pop. Cause I am the passenger, and I ride. No pilot can save me. Until I’m going up to the Spirit (RIP) in the sky I put my faith in myself.

Visualization is key. Every morning I picture myself in 1A, reclined, socks off. I hold my hand out until I can feel the weight of a mimosa dropped in my fingers. Imagining the sounds of single mothers heaving bags past without assistance, begging me to remove my bare feet from the aisle. Then I rise and manifest it into reality.

Every second there’s someone trying to take that seat from you, telling you your time is up and you’ve reached your destination hours ago and have to deplane or security will be called.

Flying solo is the only way to stay focused. Do I ever miss a connection? Never. Oh, human connection. Some days I do feel stuck in the terminal, like Tom Hanks in that movie The Terminal. But while he couldn’t leave because his home country’s government dissolved following a coup d’etat, leaving him stranded in legal limbo without a visa, isolated from family and a sense of belonging, I can’t leave or I’d be jeopardizing my rights to the executive lounge. Our stakes are similar, but Tom Hanks’ lounge was public.

When you’re ready to take the plunge, slip that eye mask off and lift the painted partition between economy and business. Until then, I’ll be grinding. Terms of service just updated. Looks like I’m going to need two million miles if I want to hit my status for next year.