Matters.

Rather than merely tell a story of how I first discovered Ann Arbor or why I live there, this true-life narrative describes my experiences — a long-time Ann Arborite and weary business traveler — reflecting on the place I call home.
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It’s just a short walk from my World Club suite to the Northwest gate at Detroit Metro. I arrive with time to spare. Without much preamble, I’m vouched, debagged and in my seat in first class awaiting takeoff. I rarely travel first class — I fail to see the point, especially on a flight to New York. It’s so short, barely two hours. But a lack of flight options has forced my hand this trip. There are worse fates, I imagine. I will enjoy the extra legroom.

During the boarding sequence, I put on my iPod earbuds and settle into reading a newspaper left by a previous passenger. The paper is a day old, but it has an interesting article about Microsoft’s Vista blunders. The repetition of wholly avoidable multi-million dollar mistakes fascinates me.

A few feet in front of me, there’s a disturbance. I peer over my paper to see a group of three young women, all in their mid to late teens, trying to help one member locate seat 4A. The surrounding travelers point at the seat next to mine. I feign oblivion, pretending to be engrossed in my paper and iPod as the young girl dressed in a pink hooded pullover, fashionably distressed jeans, Nike Dunks and Louis Vuitton luggage approaches. Abashedly, she requests to access her seat. I respectfully oblige. Her friend comes over moments later and gleefully requests that I take care of her, as this is her first flight. My socially polished smile fades as my head fills with images of a panic-stricken teenager -- screeching and grasping at the windows, the seat and me -- using her best William Shatner impression from "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet."

Fortunately, no such drama occurs. And the flight passes without incident. In fact, it’s not long before she and I are engaged in friendly banter. Soon we’re talking about our week’s plans and swapping mp3s. I introduce her to Jalyn. She introduces me to an unreleased artist whose name she doesn’t know.

Sitting cross-legged in her flight chair, she explains that this is actually her first commercial flight. Previously, she has flown only on her family’s private plane. She’s 16. She has all the normal teen accoutrements: MacBook, iPod, Blackberry, et al. And she knows nothing about how all this technology works, just that she needs it to work. I show her how to crack her iPod to get to her music. I explain that once you understand how something works, you can make it do almost anything you want.

And that’s what I do for a living; get things (brands, businesses, technology) to do what people want, not the other way around. She, however, seems more fascinated by the fact that she just scored some new music. I conclude that this is the generation and demographic that’s going to make enterprising technologists billionaires many times over. A global population of lifestyle technology-dependant super addicts. Unable to satiate their expensive want for more … or repair it once it’s broken. Apple is clearly on to something.

She goes on to tell me that she’s from Bloomfield Hills, hates Michigan and can’t wait to get out, naming colleges in Los Angeles and Florida among her preferred destinations. I don’t counter her comment. She asks where I’m from. I tell her Ann Arbor. She states that Ann Arbor is cool despite being in Michigan.

I can’t deny that the town possesses an oddly enduring cool factor. Wherever I travel, young and old alike seem to have an indefinable respect for Ann Arbor. The idea of Ann Arbor seems inviting and affecting, since most are willing to agree that it’s a cool place even if they’ve never been there.

I can relate.

Getting my first taste of freedom -- walking, busing and biking around town with my friend as preteens. Far more adventurous than my upper middleclass hometown that boasted no buses … no sidewalks … and nowhere to go. Ann Arbor, however, felt safe, fun and alive — like a massive six-square-mile playground. I practically begged my parents to move us there. It took them several years to realize that my request actually made some sense.

The girl then tells me about her first experience with Ann Arbor that happened not too long ago. Although hers involves fake IDs and bars, a similar sentiment of discovery is there -- even if it’s linked to dubious teen behavior. Despite this twist, the point isn’t lost on me. Her present situation is very similar to how mine once was: young, looking for freedom and a welcomed change of place. Perhaps she will feel drawn to Ann Arbor’s opportunities too. One day, she may find herself begging to try out Ann Arbor. Maybe even attend school there. And perhaps her parents begin to realize the request would benefit them personally as well.

Originally published on Concentrate.