Fear Of Flying?

It was something my husband always wanted to do. Something I never wanted to try.

- Aline Alexander Newman

Alaska. wild and unforgiving, home to glaciers and grizzly bears. It had been on our “places to go” list for a long time. Now after a year of planning, my husband, Neil, and I were finally there, cruising the Inside Passage on a small ship, taking in the awesome scenery. We had just come back from watching a pod of humpback whales when the expedition leader announced, “We have a special treat for Thursday. Floatplane rides. A great way to see the wonders of Alaska. Anyone interested, please sign up.”

Oh, no. I sucked in my breath and felt my chest tighten. Neil would want to go. He loved flying. Not me. Just the thought of being airborne was enough to turn my stomach. I remember Neil calling me once from one of those seatback phones on a flight he was taking for work. “Where are you?” I asked.

“About 25,000 feet above Missouri,” he said. I had to hang up, barely making it to the bathroom in time.

My fear of flying goes back to when I was eight years old. We were on a family vacation in the Adirondacks, and my father suggested we take a sightseeing ride in a seaplane. One look at the tiny pontoon plane bobbing in the water and my younger sister said no. My mom too seemed relieved to stay behind. “I’ll go! I’ll go!” I said, wanting to be the brave one. Dad lifted me into the plane.

No one had thought to warn me about the noise. As the plane’s engine roared, I covered my ears and screamed in terror.

“Calm down,” my dad shouted over the din as we lifted off. My stomach lurched. He pointed out the lakes and islands below. But I was too frightened to open my eyes. I screamed until the pilot landed.