While you’re reading this, I’m sitting in tin can hurtling through the sky at a gazillion miles an hour, holding on to the armrest as if that will ground me.
I hate to fly. Hate hate hate. It’s not your normal “I hate to fly, goddamn airport delays, stupid baggage gets lost, all that teeming humanity” kind of hate.
It is an “I need drugs to get through a 30-minute flight but I can’t take them because I have a kid and my husband gets airsick” kind of hate.
I flew a lot last year, heading back east by plane three or four times. I finally lost it on a turbulent flight from Chicago to Orlando, weeping with terror as the plane lurched this way and that, hanging on to a sleeping Poo with one arm and gripping my mother’s hand with a clench strong enough to leave a bruise.
My fear was born one frigid and clear December night in 1988, when I went with my dad to get take-away from a West Hampstead restaurant.
The radio was on, and a confused-sounding DJ told of a plane falling out of the sky in a small town in Scotland.
Lockerbie.
Many of my friends were flying home for the holidays, back stateside to see aunts and uncles and grandparents. A boy upon whom I had a tremendous crush and an on-again, off-again relationship was in the sky that night.
As the details chrystalized, we rushed home, the food left to grow cold on the kitchen counter.
We watched the TV in a prequel to 9/11, as I frantically tried to track down my friend. He was safe at home in San Diego.
My little sister, an eighth-grader, sat silent before saying this:
“I think Sarah was on that plane.”
Sarah, her newest best friend.
Sarah was on the plane, along with her sibling and both her parents.
You know how the story ended.
Ever since that chilly night, so far away from the country we called home, boarding a plane has been an act of courage on my part.
Every departure and arrival is fraught with fear and anxiety, anxiety that often begins when I book the tickets weeks before we leave.
When it was just me, I could handle it. I could squeeze my eyes closed and let the silent tears fall, gripping the seat and pressing my feet to the floor so hard that my tendons hurt when I landed.
But now there is The Poo.
I have to be strong for her, even as her small body on the giant tube of hurtling metal causes me the most anxiety. I have to protect her, my heart, my love, my darling, with everything in me.
And so, I fret and I fear and I lay awake the night before, praying and breathing deeply, and working with all my might to erase that December evening from my memory.
{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
Ugh, I can’t even imagine having such a personal reason to be afraid of flying. I’m terrified of flying, too. It takes me weeks to work myself up to the point I can walk onto a plane. Getting on a plane for Blogher in 2006 was the first time I had done that in ten years. We like to go to Florida every few years, and I insist we drive the 18 hours because I don’t want to fly.
I know eventually I will have to take my daughters onto a plane, and I dread that. I’m scared to put them on a plane. It’s an irrational fear (safer than driving and all that…), but it’s one I’ve never been able to get past.
Hope you have a smooth and uneventful flight.
Sending happy thoughts your way for a safe and uneventful flight.
I used to love flying, but since I became a parent anytime we get on a plane I’m totally anxious. I hide that – tuck it deep down inside so it doesn’t show. I don’t want the kids to be afraid, although the last time we flew Evan said, “We are up WAY too high.”
I will not say I have a fear of flying, but if there is another choice I would much rather take it. Especially, now that I have kids.
Something I heard on the radio, yesterday, (that I will not put here) makes me totally understand your fear.
I don’t know if I can trust humans with my life that high in the air.
Good thoughts coming your way, because deep down I know that the worse happens a lot less than the good.
that is really horrible. i really don’t like flying either although i’ve done it quite a bit, i dislike it every time.
mostly b/c it makes so sense, that little tin can up in the sky hurtling through the air.
Hope you have a good trip, after a stressful ride…
I hope your flight wasn’t too awful.
By the way, I lived on Inglewood Road in West Hampstead when I lived in London. Small world, no?
How awful. Your fear is perfectly understandable.
We had just arrived in England when Lockerbie happened. My mother, always terrified of flying, was a complete wreck the 10 days we were there. (Christmas vacation)
The flight home — horrible.
I cannot imagine having known someone on that plane. Again, I can completely understand your fear. And having a child to consider — that would only intensify it.
You’re safer in the air than anywhere on earth. Deep breaths.
12/21/1988. Almost 20 years later, I remember listening to the details come in on Radio 1, while eating salt and vinegar Smith’s crisps. And I remember standing at the top of the stairwell and Daddy asking me if I knew anyone who was flying home that night. And I remember sitting in my apartment in Manhanttan on 9/11 with the strangest feeling that this sadness and terror was familiar to me.
When I got to Mt Holyoke in 1993, I discovered a small plaque there, commemorating the fact that Sarah’s mother had attended the college. I thought it was some weird twist of fate.
But I am not afraid to fly.
I have always been haunted by Lockerbie–always.
Have a wonderful, smooth flight, love.
Oh, your sister’s comment.
Sigh. Sad.
By now you should have landed. And that is good.
How funny/strange that you should write this today- I am grappling with that fear myself as I’ll be flying next week all the way to Turkey (!) There’s the joy of travel coupled with the unspeakable fear of being in the hurtling tin can. A friend of my mom’s says she never sleeps on planes because “someone’s got to keep the plane in the air.” That’s exactly how I feel. Courage!
That would do it for me too. I was never afraid to fly as a child. The older I get, however, the harder it gets. I hope your flight went well.
Ah, how I can relate to this.
I’ve flown a few times with Peanut since she was born, and I’ve tried desperately to hold on to my fear so as not to pass it along to her.
The fear comes from a very real place, and you are quite brave to face it.
I absolutely love flying. Every second year we go on a family vacation, and I make flying the most exciting wonderful thing ever for my kids. My 9 year old son is a little anxious about taking off and landing,but a walk man or MP3 player does the trick and I do everything to make it positive for him. I know we all got scared after 9/11 but one can easily get hurt in a car too. So make the most of your next flight. use an MP3 or walkman, music is very calming.
I am with you and now that I have a Little Bear, I must be strong but I see planes as tubes of death. Totally irrational but absolutely true.
I am with you. Now that I have a Little Bear I must be strong but I see planes as tubes of death. Totally irrational but absolutely true.
A girl from my hometown also died on that flight. I hate flying too.