“It’s not a miracle. It’s called heroism.”

I said that at the beginning of the show Wednesday, and the more I thought about it afterward, the more those words stuck with me.

The story itself was incredible. According to the account we discussed, a co-pilot attacked and injured the pilot of an airliner. The plane went into a violent dive. A retired Navy fighter pilot analyzing the flight data said the aircraft descended about 20,000 feet in roughly 30 seconds and exceeded its maximum operating speed by about 100 knots.

And while all of that was happening, passengers reportedly went into the cockpit and subdued the alleged attacker. A standby crew eventually took over and landed the plane safely in Saudi Arabia.

That’s the news story.

But the news story isn’t really what I’ve been thinking about.

I’ve been thinking about the people sitting in those seats.

Think about how ordinary their day probably was until that moment. Somebody was going home. Somebody was thinking about dinner. Somebody was tired. Somebody was probably annoyed about the flight. People were staring at their phones, talking to the person beside them or trying to sleep.

Then suddenly the airplane is dropping out of the sky.

And somebody got up.

We use the word “hero” so much that we’ve almost worn it out. Athletes are heroes. Celebrities are heroes. Politicians are heroes to their supporters until approximately five minutes after they disagree with them.

Real heroism is different.

Nobody hands you a script. Nobody gives you time to consider the consequences. There’s no producer counting down in your ear.

Something terrible happens, fear tells you to stay where you are, and you move anyway.

That’s what fascinates me.

We all believe we know what we would do.

I’d rush the cockpit.

I’d run into the burning building.

I’d protect the stranger.

I’d stand between the innocent person and the guy with the weapon.

Maybe.

The truth is, most of us don’t know.

You can spend your entire life believing you’re courageous without ever having that belief tested. Then one day you may get five seconds to find out.

I don’t say that critically. Fear is normal. Self-preservation is normal. If an airplane suddenly starts falling 20,000 feet, nobody should be embarrassed because he’s scared. I’d be scared. You’d be scared. Anybody with functioning nerve endings would be scared.

Courage isn’t the absence of that fear.

It’s what happens next.

And there is something else here that I think we’ve lost sight of.

We’ve become accustomed to believing that somebody else is responsible.

Call somebody.

Find an authority.

Wait for an expert.

Sure, sometimes that’s exactly what you should do. But life occasionally produces moments when the police aren’t there yet, the firefighter hasn’t arrived and the person whose job it is to handle the emergency may be the person who has just been incapacitated.

There is no “somebody else.”

There is only you.

Civilization depends more than we probably realize on ordinary people who, at unexpected moments, decide that what is happening in front of them has become their responsibility.

Most will never become famous for it.

There won’t be a movie. There won’t be a parade. Nobody will put their name on a building.

They’ll go back to being somebody’s husband or wife, somebody’s mother or father, somebody’s neighbor, the guy at work who never stops talking about the Jets.

But for a few seconds, when everybody else’s life may have depended on what somebody did next, they moved.

That’s why I don’t want to call what happened on that airplane a miracle.

Calling something a miracle can unintentionally erase the human choice involved. It can make an act of extraordinary courage sound as though everybody simply waited and salvation arrived.

According to the story we discussed, that isn’t what happened.

People acted.

And maybe that’s the part worth remembering long after we’ve forgotten the flight number, the headlines and everything else about this particular news cycle.

You don’t really find out whether you’re courageous while sitting safely at home imagining the emergency.

Sometimes life gives you five seconds.

And in those five seconds, you meet yourself.

— Bo