I have written before about how the world is a better place because I am not a pilot. If I imagine that I was forced into the position, I think of the scene in "A View From the Top", when Gwenyth Paltrow hits turbulence as a newbie flight attendant and starts screaming. It would be unnerving for all if I was a pilot and an emergency occurred!
I used to be thrilled to get on a plane. It always sign that I was going somewhere, and that felt exciting. I actually remember the thrill of getting in a car on the highway, for a weekend away, driving often alone to a nearby destination. But for a number of year now, I panic in planes. Not if it is a smooth flight, and I certainly do my level best to not show it if I travel with my daughter, since she doesn't have any fear about it. I have learned to adapt. I read or play Sudoko while the plane takes off, or talk to the person beside me or, if I'm lucky, I have a screen and can start a movie with earbuds or the sound off.
I feel it more if I am in the center of a big plane, and the movement is less but the creaking is more, and it jumps back to memories of disaster movies that are always shot in the bulkheads of large aircrafts. It happens with turbulence and is worse if no one explains it. My hands sweat, and I can't concentrate while it is ongoing, so I mostly just tell myself not to grip the arms of my chair too tightly, do my best to distract myself, and I really only relax once back on the ground, taxiing in.
But lately, I have taken to ask for window seats, and have flown into some beautiful places. I enjoy the take-off and landing again, getting a great view of the Mont Royal mountain and the St. Lawrence, Montreal on a clear day circling back, or seeing the countryside or water on the way to a city I had never been to, and seeing the city open up and identifying the Sagrada Familia of Barcelona, or the CN tower of Toronto. The view distracts me and there is a joy of travelling that has reappeared, that I have not felt for a long time.
When I reflect on the timing of when my joy disappeared, I am reminded of a paper I read on the subject. It confirmed that the level of anxiety collectively had arisen of those who have a fear of flying, and maybe, without realizing it, I had become had one of the statistic. Maybe it was just time for me to feel mortal. In any case, it seemed to start from one flight with joy, to the next in anxiety, and it was annoying.
So this week, on a flight from Miami, I was reminded again about pilots, as I wrestle with fear during turbulence, and for the first time in a long time, I entrust the responsibility to the pilots, believing they would do what has to be done, and, anyways, what could I do if they weren't able to keep the plane righted? I think my usual panic attacks were quelled by a few of factors. A fearless colleague had told me about a harrowing trip alone in a prop plane over the coast of Peru, and knowing even he could be nervous, somehow reassured me. I watched the movie Scully, a beautiful film that retold the incredible crash landing on the Hudson, saving everyone on board. I started enjoying travels again.
The Peruvian flight was a funny (read harrowing-but-everyone-survived) story, and in my head, I identified with the flight in "So I Married An Axe Murderer", where the pilot looks like a hippy high on pot, and then falls asleep, taking the cop to where he can save his friend from murder, which is how he ends up taking this risky flight in a thunderstorm. Compounded is my childhood recollection of missionaries dying in small South American planes, most memorably Keith Green. In this case, on arrival to his hotel, he asked the tour guide to arrange to fly over the
Nazca lines. He was discouraged from doing so, which seemed an odd position to take from a man who worked for tourism. So after a long day on the bus, he got in the plane, and saw them all. His comment that he was glad he had the distraction of photography made it plain that it was a turbulent ride. His fear, albeit barely expressed, after being such a seasoned traveller, gave me some confidence today.
The film Scully was another level of confidence in flying. Honestly, when I heard the story, I felt it was a miracle that a pilot did what he did, on water, and so near NYC, with all its traffic. So I was really looking forward to seeing the details unfold, and I do love Tom Hanks, so I was surprised how the story was told. I didn't think I could feel more admiration, but what I hadn't known was the story that came after. I found that came close to home, the scrutiny he was under. While the world and I were wowed by the unlikeliness of such a skilled water landing (unlike the expected water crash), he was being criticized for making the call to do what he did. It made me weep with relief, after feeling the pressure he must have been under, that he was proved to be right. One of my friends who was there had never even heard the story before, and was bowled over with the idea that what she just saw was based, carefully I think, on real events.
Lastly, I have a spend a week on my first cruise through the Caribbean, and for most of the week my body has experienced the bumping around that far surpassed the turbulence that I felt in the air, and nothing bad ever happened. So I hope that when I get back on the plane in Miami, instead of fear or anxiety, I will feel a little bit of the thrill, and look forward to the next flight that will take me on another adventure!
