They say history repeats itself, but I didn’t expect it to happen via an airplane seat map.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, wedged between my two sons and the hum of the engines, I found myself eyeing the in-flight map to view our progress, and something strange started happening. As we drifted closer to London, town names began popping up. Names I recognized. Newport, Bristol, Plymouth. I blinked. Had we veered toward New England?

Of course, I knew the historical fact: settlers named their new land after their hometowns in England. But seeing it play out in real time on that tiny map screen caught me off guard. At 49, you’d think I’d have looked at a map of England with deeper intention before. Maybe I had, maybe I hadn’t. But now, I couldn’t unsee it.

The names felt personal.

Growing up in Rhode Island, Newport was more than a town, it was summer incarnate: rollerblading along First Beach, catching the Extreme Games, and weaving through the majestic seaside mansions. Bristol meant teen adventures and parade-day traditions. Portsmouth brought salty breezes and buttery lobster on Hog Island with friends. Exeter held solemn weight, the resting place for so many of our servicemen and women.

Then came a cascade of familiar Massachusetts towns: Plymouth, Gloucester, Worcester, Swansea, Falmouth, and of course, Barnstable, which makes up Cape Cod. My grandfather’s sisters had a summer home there, and my dad’s childhood was steeped in sand and stories from those beaches.

I’d heard the stories of settlers honoring their roots through names. But this moment felt different. Watching the flight map flicker with my childhood touchpoints, it wasn’t just history anymore. It was as if the screen knew me. As if memory and geography had conspired to take me on a midair road trip of my own.

What gets me is this; after uprooting their lives and crossing an ocean for the promise of a fresh start, you’d think those settlers would’ve flexed a little creativity when naming their new land. But no. They stuck a “New” in front of the old and called it a day. I mean, really?

So here I sit, midair, map in front of me, wondering how many other cities are just cover band versions of the originals. And maybe, just maybe, the next time I’m bored on a flight, I’ll start drafting new town names of my own. “Freshhope Harbor,” anyone?