I am afraid of flying. There. I said it. Out loud.
Because of this fear, I have felt shame and anger. I have been pissed at myself. I know these feelings and emotions are unfair to claim, but I do.
I try to psych up myself, running through several fact-based thoughts:
“A person would have to fly on average once a day every day for 22,000 years before they would die in a U.S. commercial airplane accident.” –Dr. Arnold Barnett, MIT Professor
“Everything you want in life is on the other side of fear.” –Actor Will Smith, at least that’s where I first heard this line. He was going to swim with sharks at the time. To me, even that seems less frightening than flying.
I have my checklist of superstitions. For instance, I never sit at the assigned gate preflight because if I look at our plane too long, I begin to notice (imaginary) issues. Is that a gas leak? Does the wing look lopsided? Is that pilot staggering? Yes, I know this is ridiculous.
I also wear the exact same outfight when I fly, it doesn’t matter which season we are in.
I listen to Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day” on take-off. The minute we hit the mouth of the runway and I hear the crank of the engines, I push play as we begin our takeoff roll. Because, of course, nothing bad can happen when you are listening to “Lovely Day.” Yup, totally reasonable. That’s fear.
I fly all the time. I don’t avoid it; I can’t avoid it. I fly often for work and even for pleasure (yes, the irony of that statement is not lost on me). My fear decreases, slightly, when my family travels with me. Maybe part of my fear is rooted in what I would leave behind, who knows.
This fear of flying is costing me, financially. I am embarrassed at what this fear has cost me in canceled flights, unclaimed hotel rooms or tour excursions that went unused. And it’s a fear that I can’t easily discuss with people, especially when work calls for me to travel.
One time, my entire team went to a conference in Cleveland. We were all on different flights out of different local airports. I boarded my flight, sat in my seat, panicked and walked off, telling the flight attendant I felt sick while carrying my luggage with me.
A half-hour later, I walked back in my house, looked at my husband’s surprised face, told him “nope,” and proceeded to collapse into bed in fear.
Our business, the conference, was scheduled to start mid-day the following day. I spent all evening fielding text messages from my team asking me where I was, what hotel I was in. “Um, I’m still in the office,” I told them, lying. “You’re still in D.C.?”
The next day, I worked up the nerve to buy another ticket to fly to Cleveland and join my team. This ticket I paid for out of pocket ($316).
Then there was a trip to Minnesota to see my ailing father. I pulled out at the last minute, citing work (more lies and another loss of travel expenses).
During another trip, with my husband and son, we received a message from the airline warning us of rough weather and offering us a chance to delay our return flight to avoid the storms. We changed flights at no cost to us. We really needed to get home, but I let my fear get the best of me.
For 20 years, my best friend has lived in Detroit. I have traveled several times to visit him, taking a relatively short flight. I have also found a million excuses (lies) why I haven’t visited more often. I haven’t shared this fear with him, either. He recently moved to South Carolina for a great career opportunity. He has asked when I am coming to visit. On my preferred airline, I have to take two flights to visit him. That further complicates things. Detroit was short and direct. Spartanburg is not as easy to get to. In this case, my fear is also jeopardizing my friendship.
Then there was the trip to Seattle, a solo trip I had planned because I was so overwhelmed that I needed to be 3,000 miles away from my life to recharge. The day of the trip, I woke up freaked out about the day’s flights. I backed out of that trip, too. I had purchased a refundable ticket—thankfully—which cost me $200 extra. I was able to cancel the flight through the app, but I wasn’t able to request the refund because I already had checked in. I spent three hours (time = cost) on the phone to secure the refund. I was also able to get a refund on several of the attractions I had planned, but I lost the first night of the hotel stay, nearly $300, because I canceled too late.
In another attempt to face this fear, I told my husband I needed to do a quick trip, ripping off the Band-Aid. So, one day after chickening out on my Seattle trip, I repacked my carry-on and scouted flights to Atlanta, roughly two hours away by plane. My plan was to scope out an available flight, hop in a Lyft and purchase the ticket en route to the airport so I was less likely to back out. Unsurprisingly, I found reasons why I couldn’t make the 5 p.m. flight (didn’t give myself enough time, holiday traffic and all). That left the 7 p.m. flight (it didn’t have the first-class seat I wanted—that sucks).
I’m incredibly cheap so taking these financial losses does not sit well with me. I am also not proud of the lying and cover stories. So while the fear continues, sharing this part of me hopefully will allow me to be forthcoming about my reluctance to travel.
SaveYourSelf caters to the financially fit and the financially flawed. Everyone is welcome. Check out our blog and forum. Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and YouTube. Sign up for emails.
SaveYourSelf | Blog 