So… I hate to fly. Hate it. Always have.
I hate take off. I hate landing. I hate turning in the air, especially those turns when you’re still climbing. I don’t get motion sickness per se, but I get a horrible sick feeling in my head. And then there’s the whole time you’re in the air. Which I also hate. I’ve never flown over the ocean before, but I also planned to never do so. I can’t think of anything more horrible than a water landing. Or a water “landing.” Using my seat as a flotation device? Um, I don’t think so. Just the thought makes me want to put PFDs on my kids as we board.
I used to fly somewhat regularly – when I was growing up, we flew somewhere at least every 2-3 years, and there were a few years there where I flew 2-3 times in one year. Relatives in NYC, relatives in California, a conference in Connecticut, whatever. Randy and I flew for our honeymoon (in 1997), and for another trip to NM either in 1998 or 1999, then we flew to Florida two years in a row – one for DisneyWorld (2000) and one for a Disney cruise (2001). And that was the last time I flew. And, as with anything you’re afraid of, the more I was able to avoid it, the worse the fear got. It’s been allowed to build and build and build.
And so, though I’ve always been able to manage the hate (fear?) of flying, it’s been SO LONG since I flew that it’s managed to just build and build and build and now flying seems like certain death.
And then there’s the fact that the world, and particularly air travel, has changed markedly since 2001. It’s gotten considerably scarier. And more horrible. And more difficult.
Restrictions on liquids and various other things in carryons.
Coming soon to an airport near you – Full Body Scanning! Hey, wanna see my boobs?
Or the fun alternative – full body pat-down. Instead of seeing my boobs, you get to cop a feel.
Terrorists, who continue trying to explode airplanes.
And yet, this spring, I’ll be getting on an airplane (several, actually) and flying over the ocean. Sigh. I tried expressing my grave concern over this (as well as concerns with the entire trip as a whole, which I’m sure I’ll blog about more as the day approaches), but to no avail, so unless I get knocked up between now and then… off I’ll go.
I’m not kidding you when I say that every time I think about this trip – every time – my heart starts pounding and I start to sweat. I breathe a little heavier. And it’s still two months (only two months!!) away.
I’ve been obsessing over this just a wee little bit lately, and have decided to start hoping that one of us is on the terrorist watch list, and it’s a mix-up that prohibits us from flying, but allows us to go home while it gets straightened out…