Fly This Way (Not!)

I have a fear of flying. It is not an ambivalent fear but a real, deep-rooted, twisting vine kind of fear that grips me every time I see a plane or hear one flying too closely above my apartment complex. I remember the last time I was on a plane - there was a mechanical issue and the plane had to make an unscheduled landing. The pilot assured us that we were never in danger. Passengers deboarded, including myself, and were re-routed to other flights. Not me. I rented a car and drove the rest of the way (approx. 483 miles) to my destination. I never got on a plane again.

And this all happened BEFORE 9/11.

9/11 added the final vestiges of fear for what was already rendering me paralyzed from getting within a Texas-sized step of an airplane. I could just imagine me on a plane - I'd be staring at people, wondering if they had a bomb concealed in their shoe, or bombs in their cell phones programmed to detonate by the ringtone "You Dropped a Bomb On Me." I'd be scrutinizing innocent people, looking for the slightest deviation from the norm. Then of course within a heartbeat I'd be trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot, the co-pilot and trying to ascertain if they (a) were drunk/hungover; (b) had any sleep the last few days; (c) were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce, in danger of losing custody of their children and decided to simply crash the plane and end it all (including the 150 plus passengers' lives on that plane, too.). These are the kinds of twisted thoughts that would go through my head and for which verbalizing my fears would probably land me a front-row seat in the nearest insane asylum.

But I am not insane. I am quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I just don't envision my life ending at 40,000 feet, being blown to bits but some Allah-hugging, bomb carrying whackjob who got up that morning (in the name of Allah), strapped on a homemade bomb to his waist and somehow managed to sneak through security, board the plane, stand up, recite some prayer in his native language and press the detonation button much to the chagrin of all passengers who DIDN'T get up that morning intending to die.

OK, so that's a far-fetched scenario but my point is that I'm just not good about heights, about not being able to see where I am going and having no clue as to the histories and origins of the pilots manning the plane, and those who sit next to me who are farting, wheezing and gasping for breath, spreading god only knows what germs into the already claustrophobic confines of the airplane aisles and snoring so loudly the sound coming from same could conceivably alter the gravitational pull of the Earth.

Then there's Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, the pilot who safely landed what may as well have been a plane the size of Jupiter - on the Hudson River last year after a flock of dumb-ass geese flew into the plane's engines, rendering them inoperable and forcing Captain Sullenberger to land that plane on the river. Safely. No fatalities (he saved the lives of 155 people), no breaking up of the plane, nothing. He is a hero. And as of this week, he is, for the first time since he became a hero and performed a miracle all in the same day eight months ago, is heading back to the skies. www.nypost.com./p/news/local/sully-brate.

Apparently Captain Sullenberger could not wait to get back up in the skies.

Go get 'em Sully. I'll stay on the ground, thank you very much.

My fears are not without merit. Country singer Justin Moore told The Boot http://www.theboot.com/ that he hates, flying too and, not a surprise, wonders the same thing I do about who exactly is flying the plane. Moore was quoted in The Boot as saying, "You're putting your life in the hands of perfect strangers. If I could interview the pilot before and make sure they ain't hungover or something like that, I'd be OK with that."

Well, Justin, YOU may be OK with that but I'm not OK. I would rather take my chances behind the wheel of my car any day and do battle with 18 wheelers whizzing by my Honda Civic at 80 miles an hour and creating a wind shear on the ground. At least I have some measure of control.

And I think that's what my fear is about: control. People who fly lose all control of their lives. And when they land safely, they get it back. I'm just not game about losing control of my life, even for an hour.

Flying is generally viewed as the safest mode of transportation. But the fear that grips me - and many thousands of other people - renders us powerless to find a way to "cure" this fear.

I am all too aware of the fragility of life, the vulnerability of my own life as I experience it in my day to day routine. I am consciously aware that I could get into my car today and get hit by a drunk driver, or someone texting on his or her cell phone and collide head on with me. I am aware that a deer could run out in front of my car, stop dead in its tracks and I'd be a new window display for a music store - can you say accordion? So the question I ask myself when the subject of flying comes up is why would I want to put myself at even greater risk by allowing myself to be whisked up into the atmosphere at a height of about 30,000 feet - Ish - by someone I've never met in my entire life and someone about whom I know nothing. Zilch. Nada.

There are many scenarios I can conjure up to convince me not to fly. (The recent Air France crash which inexplicably blew up or crashed after suffering some sort of weather-related catastrophic disaster) is a perfect example. I followed the news story of that crash with a heavy heart knowing that each had a story, each had a history and none stood a chance. Only a few bodies were recovered and only a few pieces of the airplane were found. A few pieces. A few bodies. I closed my eyes at night and envisioned the scene. I cried myself to sleep knowing there was an 11 year old boy on that plane - a boy only a few years older than my son - who was traveling by himself. His life ended in too short a time, as did all the others on that plane. I lost sleep for a few nights thinking about all those people. I prayed for them and I prayed that I would never have to set foot on a plane for any reason whatsoever.

I can't get over my fear. My mother chides me for my fear - she who is 78 years old and gets on planes without batting an eyelash and journeys to Florida once or twice a year to visit my brother and his family.

She wants to take my son and I to Disney World for a vacation. She wants to go to NASA, where my son intends to work someday. I want to see the Grand Canyon. I want to see the Aurora Borealis in Alaska. I want to see Alaska, period.

But my fear holds me prisoner. It has me duct-taped to the walls of my own invisible prison in which I reside because I cannot fathom getting on a plane ever again.

There are many of us with this fear. Some will conquer their fear, and some, like myself, will never find a way to get over it.

If I can't get there by car, bus, plane or train, or even boats (although iceberg issues are right up there with my fear of flying LOL), I don't go.

The Grand Canyon isn't going anywhere so I figure I'll just rent me an RV someday and take a nice, long leisurely trip across country, stand on the rim overlooking one of the most magnificent sights our country has to offer and spread my arms out to embrace the beauty before me.

With my feet firmly planted right on Grand Canyon ground, thank you very much.