An Open Letter to Flight 370: Reflections on Transition, Promise, and the Threads That Bind Us

Now playing: Demi Lovato's "Neon Lights." A vibrant anthem that perfectly captures that electric moment when possibility meets determination. The pulsing beat reminds me of our collective energy when we're truly aligned with purpose. As the melody builds, I'm reminded that transformation—both personal and organizational—requires both rhythm and boldness. This track exemplifies the brilliant illumination that happens when we step fully into our power.

Mitchell Royel’s reflection on witnessing history unfold during a personal transformation

March 8, 2024 — Ten Years Later

To the 239 souls aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370,

I write this letter from a place of profound reflection—not as someone who knew you personally, but as someone who witnessed your disappearance unfold in real time during one of my own life's pivotal transitions. Your story became intertwined with mine in ways I'm only now beginning to understand.

That Treadmill Moment

It was early 2014. For almost a year, I had been transitioning away from my spiritual home at Malibu Sun Yoga, finding myself religiously committed to the treadmills and weight rooms of Equinox Woodland Hills. The rhythm of that place had become my sanctuary—the familiar faces, the shared sweat, the unspoken camaraderie of people pushing themselves toward something better.

Demi Lovato's "Neon Lights" was the soundtrack of that season. It played endlessly through the gym's speakers, its pulsing beat matching our collective stride as we ran toward our individual goals. That song—with its themes of illumination and finding light in darkness—would later feel prophetic in ways none of us could have imagined.

I remember the exact moment your story broke into our routine. We were all there, a dozen or so regulars on the cardio deck, when the news flashed across the mounted screens. Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. Missing. No trace. No explanation.

The treadmills kept running, but something shifted in the air. We found ourselves united in witnessing something unprecedented—a modern mystery that defied our technological age's promise of constant connectivity and surveillance.

The Weight of Collective Witness

What struck me then, and haunts me now, was how your disappearance created an instant community among strangers. We weren't just individual fitness enthusiasts anymore—we were witnesses to history, bound together by the shared experience of watching the impossible unfold.

The regular at the machine next to mine—a woman I'd nodded to for months but never spoken with—turned and said, "How does a plane just vanish?" Her question hung in the air like an indictment of our assumed mastery over the physical world.

That moment taught me something profound about the threads that connect us. Your tragedy became our shared reality, transforming a routine workout into a meditation on human vulnerability and the limits of our control.

Promises Kept, Connections Honored

As I transitioned into my new career path that spring, I made a promise to my Equinox community—I would still visit, still maintain those connections that had sustained me through change. It seemed like such a small commitment then, but your disappearance had already begun teaching me about the weight of promises and the fragility of the connections we take for granted.

I kept that promise. Not because it was convenient, but because your story had reminded me that human connections—however casual they might seem—are precious and finite. Every conversation cut short, every goodbye assumed to be temporary, carries the possibility of being final.

The Political Lesson in Personal Loss

Your disappearance occurred during a time when I was discovering my own political voice, learning to articulate the values that would guide my public service. The way the world responded to your tragedy—the international cooperation, the technological mobilization, the refusal to simply accept mystery—demonstrated something essential about human nature.

We are not content to let people simply vanish. Despite our differences in nationality, politics, or belief systems, there exists a fundamental human imperative to seek answers, to honor the missing, to refuse the unacceptable.

This lesson has shaped my approach to public service ever since. Individual lives matter—not as statistics or demographics, but as irreplaceable threads in the fabric of human experience. Every policy decision, every legislative vote, every public statement carries the weight of real people whose stories intersect with ours in ways we may never fully understand.

The Enduring Mystery, The Lasting Impact

Ten years later, your fate remains largely unknown. But your impact—the way your disappearance reminded us of our shared humanity—continues to resonate. You became more than passengers on a flight; you became symbols of life's unpredictability and the importance of cherishing every moment, every connection, every promise we make to one another.

To your families: Your loved ones' stories became part of our collective consciousness during those uncertain months. Their dignity in the face of unimaginable uncertainty taught us about resilience and hope. Their refusal to stop seeking answers demonstrated the power of love to transcend even the most mysterious circumstances.

To those who searched for you: The international effort to locate your aircraft proved that when human lives are at stake, artificial boundaries dissolve. Nations that disagree on countless issues united in the simple recognition that every life has value worth pursuing.

The Promise Continues

As I write this, I'm reminded that the promise I made to my friends at Equinox was just one small example of the commitments we make to one another every day. Your disappearance taught me that these promises—to stay connected, to show up, to remember—are not merely social niceties but fundamental acts of human solidarity.

In politics, we often speak in abstractions about "the people" we serve. But your story reminds me that governance is ultimately about individual human beings—each with their own dreams, fears, connections, and promises to keep. Every policy we craft, every decision we make, ripples through networks of relationships as complex and meaningful as the one I discovered that day on the treadmill.

Moving Forward with Purpose

Your legacy lives on in the countless ways your story changed how we think about connection, mystery, and the preciousness of ordinary moments. Every time I hear "Neon Lights," I'm transported back to that treadmill, to that moment when strangers became witnesses, when routine became profound.

The neon lights still shine—in the connections we maintain, the promises we keep, and the commitment to never let people simply disappear from our consciousness or our care.

Your flight may have vanished from radar, but your impact on how we understand human connection remains visible, guiding us toward a more compassionate and connected world.

Rest in peace, and know that you are not forgotten.

With enduring respect and remembrance,

Mitchell Royel