“We’d like to thank the artist on board this flight who gave us all these awesome napkins.”

I looked up from my seat, confused for a second. Was the pilot talking about me?

In all the years I’ve been drawing on planes, sketching on napkins and cups while cruising 10,000 feet above ground, no one from the crew has ever said anything over the loudspeaker.

A smile here, a quiet “Thank you” there, sometimes nothing at all, but never a public acknowledgment that the whole cabin could hear on a sold-out flight.

That announcement has stayed with me since my trip back from Denver last week for a couple of different reasons.

What do we do while we wait?

We spend so much of our lives in these in-between moments. Airports. Restaurants. Dentist offices. The 45 minutes before your appointment. The delayed flight. The slow service.

Maybe we scroll our phones. Or could be some staring off into space. I draw on napkins (or Southwest coffee cups).

That choice shapes more than just the waiting. It shapes me, too.

I’m trying hard to pay attention to how we fill the space between things.

I draw on a napkin while I wait for my food. And then the person that delivers my plate or drink to me gets a gift. It’s that simple.

The Southwest flight was just one example of many. Last week, it was a coffee shop in Denver. Before that, a restaurant in Baltimore. Every waiting moment becomes an opportunity to create something small that might matter to someone else.

Instead of dead time, waiting becomes active time.

The napkin becomes the moment, not a throwaway moment.

The unused napkin now a canvas instead of waste.

The Napkin Network

This practice has taken me to unexpected places. I’m probably going to draw a lot of napkins this summer because we’re traveling a bit, and each one becomes part of a growing network of small connections.

On that particular Southwest flight I started this letter with, I began sketching on their branded napkins and cups during some rough turbulence.

Nothing elaborate, just small drawings using whatever canvas was available. I handed them to the flight attendants like I always do, but this time the women I gave them to were showing other people.

The drawings started making their way around the cabin.

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Then came the pilot’s announcement over the loudspeaker. Did I mention that’s the first time that ever happened? Yep. Still so awesome.

I’ve actually started seeing this more often. The noticing. The bartender at BWI has three of my napkins framed. One night she got a napkin at Flying Dog, another night at a different terminal bar. “I’m framing this one too,” she told me.

Now I’ve done it frequently enough that people are starting to recognize the napkins across different locations.

Why do the smallest canvases sometimes have the biggest impact?

Maybe because they’re unexpected. Maybe because they’re personal. Or maybe because in a world of digital everything, something handmade on a throwaway napkin just feels real.

I’d love to be on more bathroom mirrors, more dashboards, more water bottles.

Drawing on napkins is part of a larger goal: to have these things be out there in the world. I don’t know what’s going to happen to this napkin when I’m done and hand it over.

And I love that feeling. The goal was to use the time in a way that makes me feel proud.

Making Waiting Count

If you have to be on the road, make it count even if it’s just for the few minutes waiting for a connecting flight or a meal to arrive.

You don’t have to draw. Maybe you write thank-you notes. Maybe you strike up conversations with people around you. Maybe you use those waiting moments to really notice your surroundings.

Disclaimer: I was/am a doom scroller, too, and this practice helps cut that back significantly.

The point is choosing action over passivity. Creation over consumption. Connection over isolation.

What could you create in your next waiting moment?

It doesn’t have to be elaborate or Instagram-worthy. Just intentional.

The impact matters more than the recognition. Most of my napkins disappear without a trace, and that’s fine. The moment of creating something where nothing existed before, that’s always worth it.

Next time you’re waiting, remember: you get to choose what happens in that space. Make it count.

Grateful you are here,

Wade

PS - I’ll keep flying Southwest and keep drawing. Some habits are worth maintaining, regardless of who notices.

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