So I did what every weary traveler who’s happy to be back home after ten hours of airplane travel does: I look up plane crashes and turbulence videos on Youtube for approximately two full hours while downing a glass of stale wine and thanking higher powers to still be alive.

There are a surprising amount of these videos. Sur-pri-sing. And I think, ‘What makes someone grab for the cell phone to take a video during an 5 min 20,000 feet rapid decent toward the earth?’ I press pause and scan the scene for folks who appear to be in deep thought–reflecting upon their short existence in the cosmos only to be taken down by mechanical vessel but I only see cell phones popping out from nearly every seat. In the background flight attendants yell ‘brace! brace! brace!” as if curling into a human ball is really going to promote a happier ending to say, engine malfunction. Perhaps there’s nothing else they can think of to do in this moment but capture the event on video—video that will likely be crushed into little bits of cell phone dust upon the crash landing. In one video I hear the attendant shout, ‘Do not grab for your life vest, sir. We are coming down on land.’ Oh, okay. That’s helpful. No need to grab the vest, so instead the cell phone. Or maybe these phone-happy folks don’t think they are going to die. They trust they’ll get down onto land and be able to share their 3 minute video. 

I am not a great flyer. I tally mark each landing on my Didn’t Die That Time chart. I am what you’d kindly call an anxious airplane occupant. And if you weren’t being kind and were just being straight up real you’d call me bat-shit-crazy-can-I-please-give-her-a-tranquilizer flyer. Prior to take-off I spend most of the time pretending to read a magazine while my inside world tries to regulate my heart palpitations. One hand stretched out white-knuckling the headrest in front, the other hand holding holding the ‘literature’. We’re still parked at the gate.

Anticipation. It’s the damn ascent that gets me—blasting off into the hemisphere with nothing underneath me but some tin, a pile of haphazardly arranged luggage, and more tin . . . then just open sky. To prepare for this, I always visit the well stocked airport stores. This is the highlight of my travels. I get make like a kid and choose my snack food. I purchase the aforementioned gossip magazine, a 3 Musketeers candy bar (King Sized), and Skittles. Then I lumber up to my gate and wait until it’s last call. Yep, I just sit in the boarding area watching all the suckers get in line, scan their tickets, wait in the little tunnels that lead them to narrow aisle of the plane, only to wait some more for people to crawl over each other and panic about the diminishing overhead space. I want as little time on that behemoth as possible. So when they announce ‘last call for flight 5683 to Los Angeles’ I stand and walk up twelve feet to the annoyed airline worker and slowly present my boarding pass.

Immediately upon locating my spacious 12 inches of airplane real estate, I unload my coping resources into the seat pocket in front of me. Water bottle, cell phone (already turned off because I am not going to be the one whose signal derailed this overweight metal capsule at thirty-thousand feet), candy, magazine, book and crossword puzzle (the easy version because I cannot handle the additional stress of tackling the New York Times puzzle while on aircraft). And then I buckle in. No need for the demonstration, I’ve got that belt contraption down.

Next, I take note of the flight attendants and decide on which one has the most reliable facial expressions—the one that is sure to clue me in on imminent danger. Let the fear slip. I disregard the overly kind, poised attendants. Clearly they are robots designed to subdue my nerves with a false sense of security. Well, I’m not buying it! I tug on my seat belt, but not too tight as I don’t want to sever my legs should there be a real jolt, and begin my ‘calming’ ritual.

I go through each of my activities in sacred thoughtfully planned increments of time to distract myself from the pending rush of being plastered into my seat as the plane lifts off into what feels like a vertical leap of faith. Take off. Two minutes of eating skittles. Red ones first. Don’t ask why. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with mortality, or my affinity toward Red #40 and its, um, health benefits. Then answer seven crossword clues. No looking in the answers. Then three magazine pages. Who are these people who make the cut for these publications? I’ve never heard of any of them. I quickly scan for Clint Eastwood updates, but there are none. Then it’s two paragraphs of the novel, followed by more scanning of the plane’s occupants and employees. I look for seated pilots. I love when there are off-duty pilots on board! They know the ropes and I like to ask them questions. Is that noise normal? The wing. The Wing! Is it supposed to do that? How much turbulence can a plane handle—wait, don’t freaking tell me until we are on the ground, okay? Hold my hand. Sure, I’ll have a drinkS, thank you for asking. Yes, drinkS. 

It’s silly I know. People fly and survive every single day. I wasn’t always like this. At one point I considered becoming a pilot. I’ve ridden in tiny planes that do tricks midair over the cornfields of Iowa. I’ve been skydiving. I love fast things and well, planes are known for having some pretty speedy engines. Now I cannot fly without crying. This is anxiety. Anxiety has crept into my life in the weirdest of places and settled into the some of the darker crevices of my brain matter. It makes me nuts. I wish I could just lighten up — pull my head out of my ass, as it’s been put to me. Harsh, but it’s true. I wish I could just rid myself of silly worries. Worries don’t change outcomes but they can sure ruin moments. No one wants to be a middle aged woman ugly-crying during a routine airplane take off.  But there I am. Tears and snot smeared, discreetly?, across my face and sleeve. Sure, I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to experience a ‘water landing’. But seriously, that chance is so small and I’ve flown so much. I know better, but I don’t feel it. It’s ridiculous, not to mention embarrassing, but the reaction often feels out of my control. The shaking of the plane lifting off, the quick bank to the right that sends my brain into a vertigo induced spin. I can’t switch my brain to just feeling mild apprehension but overall trust in the routine experience. I envy the passengers that continue to read, converse, or gasp, sleep. 

Trust. The antidote to certain neurosis, perhaps. I struggle with trust —Trusting that it’s going to be okay, but also trusting that it can be okay. In situations where I tend to feel fear I search for reasons to back up this anti-trust mantra. I don my plaid detective hat, light a pipe and record evidence to support my doubt. Consequently, I end up spending more time focusing on what could go wrong than enjoying all the of elements that are going right. I waste time. And I waste opportunities to enjoy the beautiful moments. Airplane travel is miraculous! I was just able to visit my boyfriend whose staying 3,375 miles away from me, approximately, and I got to him in just half a day’s trek. How remarkable is that?! 

I suppose I’m just trying to stay one step ahead of the game so nothing can pull a fast one on me. I don’t want to be fooled. Be a fool. Be wrong. Apparently I want to be able to say “I knew we where gonna crash.” Because that would be useful in a crash ‘landing’. Well, this isn’t a healthy mode of existence and frankly, it’s exhausting. But it’s how I’ve ‘survived’ thus far.

Until this week. This week I had the experience of traveling on a glorious 787 aircraft. Boy, is it a beauty! A lumbering sky-giant equipped with fancy blue lights, plush leather seats, large video screens and electric window-darkening buttons that naturally sparked my inner critic. Has this thing been tested enough? This is a brand new plane! I have no prior experience with an entity such as this, so clearly it’s a test! Oh the irony to crash in something called a ‘Dreamliner’. Clearly something so new, so good, so beautiful must actually be capable of the greatest destruction. But I settled in as I always do. Candy, reading material, anxiety all within reach. I shifted around in my spacious seat just aisles away from the fancy folks in the private lounging booths of first class. I scoped out the video screens and the remote used to control them. Huh. Nice.

And then we pushed back from the gate and approached the runway. And I began my white-knuckle regime and inner count down to the beverage/wine service. The plane paused briefly at the beginning of the long runway, waiting for the previous plane to clear the sky. This is my least favorite moment –I recite all my expletives silently. And then the 787 moved forward, slowly at first. I tilted my head. Well, this behemoth isn’t ever going to leave land. It’s too damn big! Fine with me! Faster and faster the lights on the ground moved by as the plane picked up speed. Still, I didn’t feel anything. No panic, no bumps along the runway. And for the first time in years, I looked out the window. What’s going on? Why is this so calm? That’s when I realized we were off the ground flying above Dallas. I never felt the ascent. This calm, lovely plane took off gently into the night sky and I never knew any different. I put one hand on my chest to feel my heart beat and I didn’t find the usual thumps that nearly broke ribs. I put my hand to my ears but they didn’t hurt. I looked out the window but the horizon didn’t spin. 

It took a beautiful new experience, in a safe new situation, to let myself feel secure and calm and let go of my worries that I held on to for so long. I marched up to that new scenario with my same inner detective and gear, but it wasn’t necessary. I just didn’t know that right away. I wanted to worry. I am so darn good at it and I love doing things I excel in! I tried my hardest to fall into my routine of doubt and panic. But this time it wasn’t necessary. And for the first plane ride in years I let myself sit back and relax. I joked with my seat mates, I closed my eyes for a short nap, I got up to use the restroom and actually walked normally . . . I typically try to shuffle as to not upset the weight of the plane. Seriously. I trusted, for the first time in years, I would get to where I wanted to go. I just needed a new experience to help me reset. And a new way to get there that I’ve never experienced before. I still ordered a vodka and orange juice but that was because I was still technically on vacation. Okay, I ordered tw—three.