Tori Simokov

Discover life chapters and slow stories from the creator of Window Seat.

Every (life) chapter has at least one memorable moment, sentence, or story. What are yours? In Chapters, I ask creative people to reflect on the stories of their lives and respond to any of the below prompts (in whatever way they wish).

In the latest installment, we hear from Tori Simokov—graphic designer and creator of Window Seat—who shares travelogues, vacation memories, and unforgettable romantic adventures.

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All photos courtesy of Tori Simokov

Slow Story

I sat on my hotel balcony, staring out into the Mediterranean sea, hypnotized by the blurring of sea meeting sky. In that moment, I was hit with an immense wave of gratitude. There I was, in the middle of my dream vacation, staying at a hotel that had been on my vision board for years, with the love of my life, who had just asked me to marry him. The love, energy, and possibility in that moment felt so abundant and boundless that it moved me to tears.

Love Story

Hours after our wedding in Paris, my husband and I were strolling through the Tuileries with our photographer, just the three of us on that quiet spring evening. We’d come to the city to get married with only our immediate families, but my thoughts kept drifting to those who couldn’t be there.

One of them was my grandmother. She was the only grandparent I ever knew, and someone I’d lived with from the day I was born until she passed. She was deeply special to me, and she never got the chance to meet the man who had just become my husband.

As we walked through the shaded corridors, two hummingbirds appeared, hovering briefly right in front of us before disappearing into the trees. I froze, tears in my eyes. Of all the birds my grandmother loved, hummingbirds were her favorite.

Somehow, it felt like she’d found a way to show up after all.

True Story

The first time I ever experienced a lay-flat airplane seat wasn’t because of a points play, a status upgrade, or a cash splurge—it was thanks to the kindness of a flight attendant.

On our flight from New York to Nice, my now-husband and I were seated in the bulkhead row, directly across from a Delta flight attendant named Candace, whose jumpseat faced ours. During landing, we struck up a conversation and mentioned this was a special trip for us: we had just gotten engaged and were celebrating. She asked which flight we’d be on heading back to New York, and, as luck would have it, she was working that one too.

When the day came to fly home, we boarded and took our seats back in economy. Not five minutes later, Candace appeared and told us—somewhat mysteriously—that we had new seats. I assumed we’d be in Comfort Plus, or maybe Premium Select if we were lucky. Nothing could have prepared me for her to usher us straight into the business class cabin.

And these weren’t just any seats—these were Delta One Suites.

We were floored. The privacy, the comfort, the service—it was all a dream come true. Candace took such thoughtful care of us throughout the flight, even wrapping a bottle of champagne in a cloth napkin and securing it with a Delta wings pin.

As long as I live, I’ll never forget her or what she did for us that day.

Your Story

Today, I’m a graphic designer and travel writer who publishes a newsletter called Window Seat. I travel to see the world—but just as much, I travel to see the world from above the clouds. Flying feels so taken for granted these days. Meanwhile, I’m the person struggling to hold back tears as we break through the sky, overwhelmed by the view.

Aviation is deeply personal to me. I love learning how airplanes work, how each system functions. I watch aviation YouTubers, read books about air disasters, and sneak peeks into cockpits just to glimpse the control panels. I’ll go plane-spotting any chance I get. Simply put: I love airplanes.

So what if I told you that ten years ago, I was too afraid to fly at all?

Back then, I didn’t know what I know now, only that flying filled me with dread. I’d cancel trips entirely or spend the entire flight clutching the armrests, convinced we’d drop out of the sky at any moment. Any confidence I tried to project was undone by the way my body would tremble in fear.

But then I met Dylan, my now-husband. Being together meant a long-distance relationship that required regular air travel. I had a choice: stay comfortable in my fear, or miss out on the love of my life and, really, the entire world. Faced with those options, the choice was simple.

For the next two years, I had to force myself onto an airplane at least twice a month. I developed rituals to cope and gathered strategies to get by. One of the most powerful tools was distraction. On each flight, instead of doing crossword puzzles or watching shows or whatever else it is people do on airplanes, I’d type disjointed thoughts into the Notes app on my phone. I’d journal my feelings on the way there and chronicle the trip’s adventures on the way back. It wasn’t until recently that I realized these notes were really the genesis of Window Seat.

Over time, the exposure flights and coping tools began to work. The fear didn’t vanish overnight, but something shifted. Bit by bit, fear gave way to fascination. And eventually, it was replaced entirely.

Ten years ago, I was too afraid to board a plane. Now, I write a bestselling travel newsletter named for the very place that changed everything for me: the window seat.

Our Story

It started at a concert. I would have left early, but a DJ took the stage and his first song was one of my favorites at the time.

It continued on Twitter. One of 2010’s low-key dating apps. I tweeted at the band and the DJ from the concert, congratulating them on a great show. As one does. The DJ took notice, and my DM’s lit up. A conversation began. Maybe even a spark.

A year later, the DJ is in my city. He invites me to a concert. Of course I want backstage passes, are you kidding? I bring a friend and we go. I meet the DJ for the first time. He’s really sweet. We end up talking, just the two of us, all night. I like him, but I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. I live in Ohio, after all—he lives in New York, and he’s in a band that’s touring the world. I say goodbye, thinking it’s probably forever.

A few days later, he calls. Who calls people? I answer from my desk at a job I’d just started weeks prior. He asks what I’m doing on Monday. It’s Wednesday. Uh, working? He wants to see me again. What do you mean, you’ll be back in Ohio? He’ll be in Arizona, but it’s his day off, so he’ll fly out for the day. I hesitate. He really wants to take me to dinner. I acquiesce. He takes me for sushi, and 18 hours after landing, he’s back in the air. Uh-oh. I think I like him?

Not a day goes by that we don’t talk. He still calls. I fly to see him at shows. He flies to see me and I pick him up from the airport in my car. Two years of long-distance love go by before I move to New York. He stops touring. We move in together a year later. Right before our 8th anniversary, he proposes in front of all of our friends. A year after that, we’re married in a public garden in Paris with our families at our side.

I never thought I’d see him again. And now, he’s the person I wake up next to every morning. Funny how things turn out.

Travel Story

By now, you know I love airplanes. Which is why, when you learn what Dylan got me for the first birthday we celebrated together, you’ll love him as much as I do.

He surprised me with a trip to Seattle. Do you know what’s in Seattle? The Boeing factory. You know, the place where they manufacture their planes? Talk about a dream.

He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just what to pack. I was flying in from Ohio and he was flying from New York. He planned everything, down to the soaking tub he made sure was in the hotel room he’d booked for us. I’d never been with someone so detail-oriented. I was always the planner, so it was difficult to relinquish control. But when I did, I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be taken care of.

I’ll never forget lying on the bed after we arrived, just taking it all in—the effort, the intention, the forethought, the great care with which everything had been executed. It was the first time I’d ever felt so fully loved by someone.

He planned a truly unforgettable trip, but what I remember most isn’t the planes. It’s how, for the first time, I didn’t have to be the one charting the course. That weekend in Seattle was a departure and an arrival, all at once.

Funny Story

In Nicaragua, my husband and I were staying at an eco-retreat. One morning, we found ourselves having breakfast with one of the staff members. Despite not knowing a single word of Spanish, my husband decided to strike up a conversation.

With his whole chest, he walked up to the man, smiled warmly, and—trying to ask his name—said:

“¿Te amo?”

Which, of course, means “I love you?”

Thank you, Tori!