Kathleen's Blog

After 13 years of basically living in airports, I’m proud to announce I’ve been demoted by the airlines – and I could not be happier about it.

We moved back to SoCal in 2025 from Colorado, and suddenly I’m not flying every other week like a haunted business traveler with unresolved issues. United knocked me down to Premier Platinum. American dropped me to Gold. Honestly? Relief.

You know what I don’t miss? Running spreadsheets to calculate which credit card swipe gets me closer to the next tier. Booking flights through Phoenix on purpose because “the miles make sense,” even though it adds four unnecessary hours and one emotional breakdown. Pretending I care about “priority boarding” while half the plane is already standing in the jetway doing absolutely nothing.

I do not miss explaining to my family why I have to take a random December weekend trip to Phoenix because I’m 2,000 miles short of requalifying for a status that lets me board 30 seconds earlier and sit marginally closer to the front bathroom.

I was a professional travel masochist. I once connected through Newark willingly. I’ve consumed more Cinnabon than is medically advisable.

But Southwest? Southwest still has me at A-List Preferred. Ride. Or. Die. They saw me at my lowest—when I was so desperate I almost flew Spirit. Spirit.—and they said, “No worries. You’re family.” That’s LUV. That’s unconditional. Southwest is a golden retriever. United and American are cats who only liked me when I was feeding them constantly.

So yes, welcome to my villain origin story: the person who wanted to lose airline status. Southern California has ruined me with its perfect weather and lack of forced connections and I’m completely fine with it. I’m thriving. I’m healed. I’m free.

The airlines can keep their “complimentary upgrades” to seats with an extra half-inch of legroom.

I’ll be driving PCH with the top down on the Purple Princess.