My next flight was full, and for the first time in two years, there wasn’t a face covering in sight, including on the flight crew. By now, I had fully embraced being mask-free. For a 7 a.m. flight, the plane was buzzing with energy. I watched people flirt, joke, scowl and laugh. It was almost overwhelming to observe all of the emoting.

I was barely hanging on by a thread after my red-eye flight, and I fell asleep pretty deeply for being crammed in a tiny budget airline seat. I would wake up from my fitful naps with my jaw cranked open, tongue exposed to the elements. Once upon a time, I thought it would look strange to wear a mask to cover up my open-mouth sleeping style. Now I’ll probably do it as a courtesy to the people around me and for future coronavirus concerns.

On the tram to passport control in the London Stansted Airport, a woman who had also departed from Baltimore told me she had worried about flying without a mask. She said she took the risk over the discomfort of masking on a long-haul flight. We commiserated, both hoping for the best, yet concerned.