As a kid, I spent a lot of time traveling alone on airplanes.

I was born in England and moved to the U.S. when I was 12 years old after my parents split up. Like a pingpong ball being lobbed across the ocean in slow motion, I bounced back-and-forth internationally several times a year between my family.

During one flight, an older man — probably in his early 60s — sat down next to me. He looked at me, nodded, and took a deep familiar breath as we settled in for the 8 hours we would share together at 35,000 feet. His skin was creased and worn, and his white wavy hair looked like it was sculpted from clay. As he looked over at me, he smiled and the wrinkles around his lips settled into a shape that seemed comfortable and familiar to him. I knew immediately he was kind and we began talking.

I told him the story of my young life so far. About my decision to move to America with my Dad. About my plan to become an artist when I grew up. And about Amanda, a girl I had recently kissed. He listened attentively to everything. And then it was his turn.

He told me that his work required him to travel, a lot. That he was not a rich man, but he was happy. And then he told me that he collected air.

“Did you just say you collect air?” I asked with curiosity.

“Yes, that’s right, air,” he responded. He said his wife had to stay home and take care of the family while he set out on his vocational journeys. Early in their marriage, as he stepped out the door, suitcase in hand heading to France for work, his wife gave him a kiss goodbye, said, “I love you,” and then joked, “Bring me back some of Paris.”

So, he did just that.

He told me that while walking around a Parisian market one afternoon he saw an old empty glass vial that was about 3 inches tall. He immediately purchased it, took the cork out of the top, held it in the air for a few seconds while the market-stall women looked at him inquisitively, and then stuffed the cork in the top and walked away. Later, back in his hotel room, he taped a piece of paper to the bottle that read: Paris.

When he got home, he gave his wife the glass vial and said, “Here you go dear, I brought you back some of Paris. Some Parisian air.”

And thus began a trend. Wherever he would go for work, he would bring back some local air for his wife. Before long, he had given her dozens of these little vials filled with San Francisco, New York City, Taiwan, London, Valdez, Cape Town. Each one made her happier than the last, he told me.

I remember looking out of the window and thinking to myself, “Hmmm, I should do that. I should collect air too.” As that particular thought swirled around in my head, the man tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Don’t collect air, collect something that makes sense for you.”

Over the years I tried doing just that. I tried collecting matchbooks, buttons and coins. I even tried collecting yellow rubber ducks — at one point, amassing hundreds of them. But nothing really stuck; it always felt like I was collecting for the sake of collecting.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was coming back from a work-related trip in Germany and I sat down on the plane next to a man in his mid 40s who told me an all too familiar story: He traveled for work while his wife stayed home with the kids, he wasn’t rich, but he was happy. And then he told me that he collected sand.

“Sand?” I asked. “Did you just say you collect sand?”

He told me his seven-year-old son was obsessed with the beach and had asked his Dad to bring back sand from beaches around the world while he traveled for work. So far, the man told me with a proud smile, he had collected eight or nine vials of sand for him. He said they were all proudly displayed in his son’s bedroom window.

The man looked at me and asked, “Do you collect anything?”

At first I didn’t know how to respond, I hadn’t thought about it in some time. And then I instinctively told him that I actually collect stories —about people, or events, or places, or companies, or moments in time. That I collect these stories and keep them as words and photos.

I looked out of the plane window for a while as we zipped above the clouds at 35,000 feet, and then I looked back at the man and said, “I guess you could say I collect air.”

• Is the Web Dying? It Doesn’t Look That Way
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• How to use Barcode Readers 09.14.2010
  

  In my new book, I Live in the Future & Here’s How It Works, you will find a series of little black and white squares called a QR code. Using one of a free applications on your mobile phone you can access additional content from the book.

  To get a free code reader, for iPhone, Android, Palm or Blackberry, either search in your smartphone app store for “ScanLife”, or go to the following URL on your mobile phone: j.mp/BiltonCode Continue reading →

• Pointing at Your Wrist in 2014 08.17.2010
  

  I’ve never been very good at taking tests.

  My A.D.D. usually kicked in after the fourth of fifth question and I had more fun daydreaming about how I could land a plane if the pilot suffered a stroke, saving hundreds of beholden passengers, than plodding through a list of multiple choice questions.

  This all changed in the summer of 1992. Continue reading →

• Making A Social Media Burger 08.16.2010
  

  Last week I wrote a story for the Bits Blog about 4Food, a new “healthy fast food” restaurant that’s opening in New York City in September.

  I know what you’re probably thinking: “Huh, you’re don’t write about food for The Times, you write about nerd-stuff.” The reason I wrote about 4Food was because of the way it’s connected to the Web and allows a new kind of social integration with you lunch, integrating with Twitter, Facebook and Foursquare. Continue reading →

Please feel free to contact me with questions, invitations to speaking events, or to wish me a Happy Birthday.
bilton@nytimes.com
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