On my flight to New York, I began to panic once again. What if my editor figured out that I was coming to the Big Apple to fight with her and refused to see me? I couldn’t breathe, I was wound up so tight. I got up and began doing push-ups in the aisle beside my seat. I knocked out about 50 and got back in my seat, breathing deeply and blowing out fast. The woman across the aisle from me asked if she could help me. She was with her husband and child.

“What I really need is some papaya,” I said to her. “My stomach is all upset.”

“I have some papaya,” she said.

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I have it right here, along with some other healthy food for our child and us.”

She gave me a slice of papaya, and it was delicious. And I immediately began to calm down.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed with what I was about to say. “If I could hold your child, that would really help.” Tears came to my eyes. “I miss my boys and wife so much. We always climb in bed together and hug when any one of us is feeling low or a little out of it.”

“Sure,” she said. “His name is Tyler. He’s going to be a year old.”

“Thank you,” I replied, taking their child in my arms. Instantly, I felt better and could breathe regularly once again.

We talked as I held the baby. They were from Encinitas, just south of our rancho in Oceanside. Their names were Bonnie and Jeff. She was an N.D., which was somehow different from an M.D., and he was a locally famous health-food chef.

They were the perfect people for me to meet. Because when we got to New York and I began to panic again, Bonnie gave me some holistic Rescue Remedy that calmed me right down. And when I walked off to get a cab and left my luggage and my huge hatbox on the curb, Jeff raced back to me, yelling, “YOU CAN’T DO THAT! You’re in New York!”

“Do what?”

“Leave your luggage unattended even for a moment!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” he repeated. “Bonnie, you go ahead,” he said to his wife.

“I’ve got to stay behind and make sure this guy gets in a cab with his belongings.”

Jeff stayed with me, explaining that the East Coast, especially New York, was different from the West Coast. Then he asked where I’d be staying and gave me his parents’ number.

“Call us,” he said. “We’ll also be here for a week, so either Bonnie or I can guide you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise? Call every day.”

“Every day?” I said.

“Yes, every day,” he affirmed.

“Okay, sure, and thank you for letting me hold your child,” I said.

“Children just move us out of our heads and immediately into our hearts, eh?”

“Yes. So I’m finding out,” he said. “Be careful. Bonnie and I both saw how you held our son. You’re a very gentle, sensitive man. Good luck to you with your publisher. It’s not every day we get to meet a person who’s refusing to get rich because of what he believes in.”

We had talked the whole last half of the flight together. I liked them a lot, and they’d come to like me a lot, too. Boy, it was like a miracle how I’d calmed down when these perfect strangers had just handed me their child across the aisle. The smell, the warmth, the . . . the feel of a baby was so wonderful!

Chef Jeff got me in a cab; gave the driver the name of my hotel, the Gramercy something; and asked him how much that would cost me. When the driver began to give a long explanation about traffic conditions and such and such, Jeff cut him off, saying, “Look, I’m not a tourist! I’m a New Yorker, and this is my best friend, and you can give me an exact amount within a dollar or we’ll take a different cab!”

Boy, was I impressed. When we got to the hotel, the cab driver’s estimate was within 50 cents. I tipped him a couple of dollars, and he was very nice. I asked him if he’d ever heard the one about the New York taxi driver going to heaven. He said, “Yeah, yeah,” and took off real fast. I waved, but he didn’t wave back.