Gonna Be A Bumpy Ride

I hate flying.

Well, I actually just hate being in the air.

Leading up to a flight, I don't get nervous. I don't choose to drive cross-country instead of taking a plane. I don't get queasy when I'm sitting at the gate and they start boarding.

It's the in-air turbulence that makes me curl up into a ball, triple check that my boarding pass doesn't say "Oceanic Airlines", and rock back and forth humming "Three Little Birds."

Part of it may be related to my fear of heights which I've self diagnosed as more of a distrust of the structural integrity of things. I was a Psych minor in college so I'd say the diagnosis is about as accurate as you can get. Don't tell me that the skyscraper swaying in the wind actually helps make the building more sound. Don't tell me that the Ferris wheel cars never unhinge and fling towards the heavens. Don't tell me that what feels like crazy turbulence in a plane is actually just a few inches of altitude change.

It makes no difference.

They tell you to face your fears head on. Well, I fly all the time. And the second we hit the slightest turbulence, my palms liquefy like that guy from X-Men. So I don't buy it. If anything, the more I experience turbulence, the more detailed my horrible memory association with flying gets. It's my fear. Let me have it. Why don't we throw you in a shark tank and tell you to face your fears?

Writing about this is not therapeutic in any way. It's more of a warning for anyone who picks me up from an airport wondering why I'm sweating like a post-game interview Shaq.

Until then, I'll kill all the spiders you want.