Sliding Doors and Storylines

I’ve always loved the film Sliding Doors.

That moment when one missed train changes the entire trajectory of a woman’s life,  it stayed with me.

It made me wonder: how many times are we just seconds away from creating a completely new timeline?

One choice, one action, one moment… and suddenly, life takes a different path.

Yesterday, I experienced my own Sliding Doors moment.

I was flying from Luton to Geneva and was randomly assigned seat 12F.

I got comfortable, sat by the window, and began to settle in.

Then the air hostess walked over and said,

“Everyone in this row needs to pay extra attention to the safety instructions  especially you,” she pointed. “You’ll be responsible for opening the emergency door if needed.”

I felt my heart race.

I held my daisy chain up to my chest and said, gently but firmly, “I’m autistic, and this is definitely something I don’t feel comfortable being responsible for.”

In the past, before Radical Honesty, I would have smiled politely, said nothing, and convinced myself that the odds of needing to open that door were slim.

But it didn’t feel right.

And radical honesty means honouring what feels true.

So I spoke up.

Yes, it drew attention.

Yes, it made me uncomfortable.

But it also changed everything.

The air hostess smiled and said,

“No problem — the only other available seat is 17A.”

So I gathered my things, walked down the aisle, and as I reached 17A, I looked at the woman in the seat beside me and said,

“I know you.”

She looked surprised.

And then it hit me.

She wasn’t just familiar — she was my family doctor.

The same GP who’d cared for me as a child, who’d looked after my parents, my siblings, even my own children.

She had known my mum for over 30 years.

For the entire flight, we talked. I asked her about my mum, about what she remembered most. I explained she’d passed away.

And she said,

“She was a gentle, strong, quiet woman who loved her family.”

That moment… that was my gift.

A seat change became a bridge back to my mum — a connection I didn’t even know was waiting for me at 35,000 feet.

It made me think again about Sliding Doors.

How easily one small decision, to speak, to move, to choose differently, can shift our entire storyline.

As we move towards 2026, I want to invite you to reflect:

Every decision you make, and every decision you avoid, shapes your story.

Our inactions write chapters too.

So instead of fearing change, let’s embrace it.

Because you never know, your next “no” could be the doorway to an unexpected reunion, a healing conversation, or a new version of your life.

After all, we are always one choice away from a new storyline.