Una Giornata Particolare: Aero-hostile.

Anyone who knows me knows this: I have a flying phobia. I have found ways through the years to postpone flying or to avoid it all together. Part of the reason we moved back east was because I wasn't sure when I would see my parents again. The days leading up to a flight cause great distress, and usually involve me in the fetal position on our bed, going crazy with racing thoughts, panic, and nausea. I imagined never flying again but I wondered if I would ever get to Europe. My French roots were calling me & I felt obligated to visit Paris (and since I'm an art history major -- duh!). An unexpected school-organized trip to Italy seemed to appear out of nowhere (more on that later) & I felt destined to go.
I applied for this trip knowing I would have to fly. When I was accepted to go I immediately broke out in tears. Not out of joy but fear! I even tried to get out of the trip twice, knowing my plane ticket offered no refund. I thought maybe May 16th would not come and I could stop worrying. Why had I done this to myself?

So, I'm back and I'm still alive. My plane did not fall into the ocean; I was so sure it would. I read about the Air France flight falling at 11,000 feet per minute. At the 3 minute mark the plane hit the Atlantic, a giant belly flop. I didn't want to drift to the sea floor! I didn't want to get hijacked like the Alitalia flight to Rome and nearly diverted to Libya! I wondered if I would be the one to go for the emergency exit mid-flight ("GET ME OFF THIS PLANE! NOW!") and have to be subdued by flight attendants and brave passengers. Though I still was freaked out, a gentle sedative eased my panic enough to board the plane. I even had to admit to myself I was in a zone, not unlike before neurosurgery last year. Scared but peaceful.

Dulles Airport was a madhouse and I was devastated when it was time to say goodbye to Ethan and the girls. I thought they would sit with me until it was time to board (that shows you how much I know about flying). Instead I was shuffled down to the security check and found my way to the gate. Luckily my professor, Dr. Susan Stevens, was on the same flight & we chatted before boarding. She seemed to view flying as an everyday annoyance, a means to an end. I tried to carry that attitude but it didn't work. (I had no seatmate, which was great and awfully convenient for bathroom trips.) We were delayed by weather but eventually made it out to the runway.

There was a line of us waiting to take off. It was horrifying and fascinating. I remembered the pilot who I met at work who told me the most dangerous part of my trip would be the drive to the airport. Hmph. Taking off is exciting and dreadful. More dreadful if the woman sitting behind you (& whose husband died from Agent Orange) is joking with her seatmate about whether or not the plane will take off or fall back toward the earth.