Prepare for Take-off

I could not be any less suited for travel.  I fret the moment the flight is booked, tracking weather patterns, terrorist threats, even glacial shifts that may somehow affect travel.  I begin saying goodbye to people in sad, inappropriate ways.

My daughter finally said “Mom, why do you keep acting like the plane is going down?”   I don’t!  You just said “Since I’m convinced our plane is going down…”  Oh that.  I was talking about something else.

I asked my sister if she had realized yet that if our plane goes down, it’s the end of our family line.  No, she hadn’t quite thought of that yet, but thanks for the warning!    

I began organizing my office as if I were leaving Earth, converting it into a mausoleum.     Once the 10-day forecasts were released, I started tracking all upcoming weather- and precipitation-related events, like snow storms.

For the ten days leading up to our departure, the weather was predicted to be perfect, albeit frigid.  I researched de-icing practices and felt pretty confident, based on airline policy and interviews with various travelers, that iced wings would not be the thing to take us down.  I was feeling confident.

On day seven of the 10-day forecast, though, suddenly things shifted.  The day that had promised to be sunny, crisp and safe held the tail-end of a major snowstorm.  I went into calamity preparation mode.   And my version of calamity preparation mode would not prepare me for much.  It involved me telling everyone I saw about my fear of flying, hoping that someone would reassure me enough to drop it.   I never met that person.

I began praying in earnest and making little deals with God and myself.  I denied being worried, hoping it would convince my brain that I was not worried.  My brain had gotten really good at knowing when I was lying.  I started a computer file for my husband “If I don’t make it back.”  I began to worry about my dog.  How would he manage without me?  I eventually became obsessed with this thought, treating him like a terminal patient.  “Oh buddy, you’re gonna be fine.  Everything’s ok.”  He definitely picked up on my angst and began limping around, sagging his head, watching me cautiously from his half-sleeping state.  He never fully closed his eyes around me.  Great.  Now I’ve ruined my final days with him.

That’s when I stopped myself, remembering that I had done this before my last trip, and the one before that.  There’s always a flight or a storm or an illness.  Isn’t that just life? We do not control of any of this, and my efforts to wrestle it are wasted.   The only moment I have is happening right now.  Why can’t I seem to get that?  So I let myself accept that the flight is probably not going to take me down.

And began worrying that the crazy cab ride might.

Megan Davis Collins hates to fly, but loves the Gulf of Mexico. megdavcol@gmail.com