People - MANY people - find it ironic that I am married to an aviator, as I myself am a terrible flyer. Actually, I find it pretty ironic myself. I think when my husband (then boyfriend) first heard that I was afraid to fly, he probably thought it would be cute and that he would be there to be my big strong protector and comforter during our flights together. Of course, that was before he saw the white-knuckled, hyperventilating, real-tear-shedding, utter panic that is what I mean by "afraid to fly". It is not cute. But it has not always been that way.
 | ||
| Me, fearless master of air travel |
I traveled internationally for the first time at eight years of age. We went to Europe, and I remember it vividly. We went again when I was eleven. Then, we took the most unforgettable vacation of my life to South Africa when I was in high school. I loved to fly. I loved when my parents took down our big, leather suitcases from the attic that could hold two weeks' worth of clothes. I loved being at the airport. It meant we were going on another fabulous adventure. Flying symbolized fun and family and priceless experiences. I felt so grown up at the airport telling the ticketing agents that I had packed my own bag and no one had asked me to carry anything onto the plane. And no, of course I hadn't left the bag unattended. I was a very responsible eight-year-old. I wrote countdowns in my trip journals of the days, hours and minutes until take off. In flight, I watched movies, slept, and carefully watched our progress on the little map on the screen. I wrote updates in my journal about where the plane was, how fast we were going, and what the air temperature was outside. How amazing and fantastic that we were hurtling through the sky at 30,000+ feet, safe in our aircraft from the freezing air outside, and mere hours away from Europe. That same trip took my grandparents, father, aunts and uncles days when they immigrated to the United States. How fortunate we were.
If I was ever concerned, my father was there to reassure me. I don't remember him being reassuring in a coddling way, but rather in a matter-of-fact way that made me feel a million times better than a little pat on the head and an "everything's fine" would have. My father flew almost every week for work when I was young. [Side note: as it turns out, my mother may well be a superhero. See my post on The Law of Deployment. As a young mother now, it boggles my mind how many wake-ups, meals, and bedtimes she must have handled without my father. And my father may in fact be a superhero as well. For all his time on the road (he flew a family of 4 to Europe business class on airline miles alone), I don't recall him missing anything. Not a piano recital, not a volleyball tournament, not a holiday, not even a birthday until I was nearly grown. For a man who worked his tail off for us, he was also a phenomenally present father. They should probably write a book.] Some weeks, my dad "commuted" halfway across the country or more for work. When we were very young, he used to bring home all of his boarding passes for us, and we used them to play flight attendant. As a child, the song Walking in Memphis made me think of my dad because of the line: "and I boarded the plane/ touched down in the land of the Delta Blues/ in the middle of the pouring rain". I now know what it means, but at the time Delta was just a word printed on those boarding passes he brought home. Flight after flight after flight on airplane after airplane after airplane, and there he was. Safe and sound as ever. And my brilliant and well traveled father could always explain what was going on with the plane in a way that made me understand that of course we were safe flying. Everything that was happening was exactly what was meant to happen, and any worries or thoughts to the contrary were silly and needless. And that made me feel very safe. And I loved to fly.
And then I woke up one crisp September morning in 2001 - my freshman year at NYU, located in lower Manhattan - and I never looked at planes the same again. It's hard to say what changed that day, and it's far beyond the scope of a blog post to explain (though sometimes, I try). But in the year after that, I developed a paralyzing fear of planes. I didn't have to be flying on them. Hearing them was enough. Seeing them was enough. My first flashback happened during the Spring of 2002, and then they were frequent for a while. Triggered by planes, smoke, or just a quiet moment alone with my thoughts, coming sometimes in the form of nightmares and sometimes in the form of waking flashbacks, they became part of my reality. The airport was no longer a happy place for me. As I approached, my stomach knotted and my throat tightened to the point it felt like I could not breathe at all. For a while, I required anti-anxiety medication to board a plane. It wasn't as much the flying as it was the plane. It was a new world, and it was one in which my childhood vision of planes as a symbol of fun and adventure had been shattered.
 |
| Yep, Miss Afraid to Fly married this guy. |
In the more than ten years since, those feelings have subsided. I can see and hear planes without the acute feelings and memories they used to trigger (and that's an awfully good thing since we're generally stationed near a military air base...). I don't have sleepless nights every time someone I love has to fly (again a good thing, since I'd probably never sleep if that was the case!). I don't see in all planes those planes anymore. But as my fear of planes has subsided, my fear of flying has intensified. Dramatically. It became, instead of something I looked forward to and enjoyed, the thing I dreaded most in this world. The first time my husband and I flew while I was pregnant (read: could not obtain any liquid courage before the flight), it only took that one time witnessing my terror-induced panic for my husband to agree I wouldn't fly again during the pregnancy. I won't drone on about my flying-induced panic attacks here, but suffice it to say that: It. Is. Not. Pretty.
But I can end this blog post with a very happy development. Not too long ago, the FAA decided it was OK for commercial passengers to use electronic devices during takeoff and landing. Ladies and gentlemen, this development has been nothing less than life changing for me. "Gate to gate": what a beautiful phrase.
Music, for one reason or another, has always been a powerful force in my life. Classically trained on the piano since the second grade, music has always had the ability to alter my mood. The right kind of music can calm me, excite me, or make me feel invincible. A song can take me to a completely different place and time. The way some people remember sights or smells, I remember what songs were playing at various moments in my life. And not just big moments. I remember what song was playing, for example, when the alarm clock went off in our hotel room on my first ever trip to New York City. And any time I hear that song, I'm back in The Plaza Hotel, falling in love with a city for the very first time. Music can focus me or be a beautiful distraction. In giving me my music from the time I board a plane to the time I get off that plane, the FAA has given me a gift that it can never fully appreciate. Earlier this year, my husband bought me some of those noise canceling headphones, and I yelled at him for how much he spent on them. Turns out, my husband also gave me a gift that he can probably never fully appreciate (because while he has seen me panic on a flight, he is so comfortable flying that I don't believe he can comprehend what it feels like).
As the plane taxis to the runway, I turn on one of those songs that makes me feel invincible. I put it on repeat. As the plane accelerates down that runway, I turn the volume up. I close my eyes. I don't hear the engines. I don't hear the landing gear going up. I don't hear the flaps changing position. I hear my music. I feel invincible. I smile. During the flight, I listen to all sorts of music. Some takes me back to my childhood. Sometimes I can hear my father telling me that everything is fine in a way that makes me feel absurd for thinking it might not be. Sometimes I even laugh a little at a memory brought back by a song. If we hit some turbulence, back comes the feeling-invincible music. I take off those noise canceling headphones when we are back on the ground, heart rate normal, eyes and palms dry. I have flown nine times this year so far, and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the new electronics rules have revolutionized my flying experience.
So thank you, FAA. Thank you for giving me my music, through which you have given me the ability to feel calm, to feel at peace, to even feel joy. Music has done for me what no amount of reasoning or reassurance has been able to do in the past decade. It has stopped the panic before it starts. So here's to air travel, to going on adventures with my family, and to maybe, one day in the future of which I dare to dream, once again associating flying with a feeling of joyful anticipation rather than one of fearful dread.
Sincerely,
A Hopeful Traveler
No comments:
Post a Comment