So it’s finally time for me to fess up about my fear of flying. I HATE AIRPLANES. There is nothing about them that I like. Once I get within a mile of Detroit Metropolitan Airport, I start to get nervous because I know what is about to happen to me. I’m going to have to board the aircraft with a few hundred people, squished into a seat that is NOT comfortable. Once in there, I’m going to get locked in and hurled down the runway, hoping to go fast enough to get enough lift without crashing into a burning pile of rubble at the end of the runway. It sounds a bit dramatic. Trust me, I know this. But we are not talking logic here. If we were, then I would be fine. The logical side of my brain knows the statistics. The ones that tell me that my odds of dying on an airplane are much lower than driving my own car. And if my brain consisted of only logical neurons, we’d be all set. But the other 1/2…that pesky part that controls emotion. That part does NOT LIKE AIRPLANES.
I’ve had much time to think about this over the years, as I’ve cowered in my seat, waiting for the plane to fall out of the sky. At the end of the day, it comes down to control. I am the first to admit I’m a bit of a control freak…okay…a HUGE control freak. And being at the mercy of someone else while I’m sitting 30,000 feet in the air…that doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It makes me feel downright panicked. When I was young and stupid (in my 20′s) the only way you could get me on an airplane was with booze. Now keep in mind that I’m not much of a drinker. Two drinks hit me hard and I’ve never liked how being drunk makes me feel, so I tend to avoid alcohol unless I’m really, really in the mood. So while I didn’t like doing it, I would get to the airport a little early and drink a few drinks and then I’d be able to walk on that airplane.
This little system worked for me until one night when I was flying to San Francisco in 2002. Due to a comedy of errors and wind gusts up to 60 miles per hour, our airplane left the gate with only booze and no food. I traveled a lot back then for my job, so my elite status on Northwest Airlines pretty much guaranteed me a first class upgrade. The flight attendants quickly informed us of the food situation and were happy to keep our drink glasses full so we wouldn’t whine about the lack of food for our 4.5 hour trip. The logical part of my brain would have really been helpful during this flight, but the emotional part, terrified of the airplane and the large wind gusts, told me to keep drinking. It was all fine until we started our approach into San Francisco. Because of the wind, the pilots had to perform some maneuvers that made my stomach yell STOP. By the time they lined up for the final approach, I knew this wasn’t going to end well. I managed to hold it together until we were done taxiing to the gate, but as soon as that fasten seat belt sign went off, I bolted out of my seat, ran for the bathroom and…well…you know what I did. After that trip, I realized I’d need to find a better way to deal with my fear.
When I got back to Detroit, I went to talk to my doctor about options. She thought I should try meditation, but I had to snort a little at the suggestion. See…I’ve tried Yoga type things before. This is so not me. When everyone else is deep breathing and clearing their mind, I’m looking around to see how stupid I look and mentally making fun of the fool next to me trying to hold the downward dog pose. I can’t clear my mind. It’s not how I’m wired, so I told the doc she’d have to come up with something better.
Next on the list was a pill called Xanax. Now…I’m not big on pill taking. Won’t take a Tylenol unless my head is killing me or cramps are threatening to disable me enough where I would consider taking a sick day. But this little pill in a bottle…in all its .5 mg glory…I quickly became a disciple. The good doctor didn’t want me getting addicted to the things, so I have to visit her before each plane trip. I get two for the ride out and two for the ride home. I can’t say it works miracles. I still get nervous during takeoff, but during final approach for landing I can now bring myself to look out the window to see if I can spot familiar landmarks. This is progress and I’m willing to take it.
I’ve often thought that I’ve only traded one vice (booze) for another (pills) in coping with my fear, but I realized, at least for me, there was no other way that I would ever be able to fly. Since I love to travel, letting my fear of flying stop me from exploring the world just wasn’t an option. So this is how I decided to cope. And I’d make the same decision again, because life is too short to regret that I can’t retrain my brain to allow breathing exercises to help me. I know that there are some schools of thought that would call me weak. That’s okay and I can live with that. Because decisions like these…they are what show our humanity. Show our flaws and our attempts to deal with them.
If you have a life-altering fear, whether it’s flying or leaving the house or talking to a complete stranger, I want you to know that you have options. There are ways to find help and try to move past the obstacle that is impeding your life. You owe it to yourself to give yourself a chance. And you should never feel ashamed for asking for help. Life is hard and we can rarely accomplish it all on our own. People that say that they don’t need help from anyone are, in my humble opinion, big, fat liars. Trust in yourself and take the first step. It could be the beginning of a whole new life.
God Speed,
