The tin bird of the skies

(A post from Laura).

Over the next few months, we have a number of exciting trips planned. Normal people would be looking forward to these trips and I am guessing, would feel excited.

But not me. Instead, I fixate on one thing and one thing only: the flight.

The weeks leading up to a flight follow a similar pattern. I stare anxiously out the window, trying to spot tiny planes hurtling through the sky, wondering how they stay up there. I read articles about the physics of flying (magic). I lie in bed imagining the day I finally go crazy on a flight and bring it down.

I didn’t used to hate flying. In fact, I loved it. I even flew to Australia and back all alone.  Then about two years ago, I was on a flight and happened to look out the window. It hit me. I was in a metal tube, floating on thin air. Literally floating.

The thought was like taking a bullet. What was I doing? I was well-educated. I was sensible. And yet I had chosen to be rocketed up into the air (a place where humans don’t seem to dwell, naturally) and to subsequently glide on the wind, like a leaf. I spent the remainder of the flight gripping onto the plane table and drank three gin and tonics. I don’t even like gin.

This would be the part of a blog where I would detail my recovery and the amazing techniques I learned to overcome a fear of flying. Except I haven’t.  I am due to fly to Nice, France, this weekend  (a two hour flight from London), and I am nervous. On a flight home from Canada a few months ago, I spent the entire flight in a cycle of finally nodding off, before lurching awake with a pounding heart and making weird noises. I eventually turned to ‘mother’s little helper’ – Valium.

So rather than being helpful, this post turned into a rambling message of mounting worry and anxiety. I’ll get on that flight to Nice, definitely. But I will sweat and be in a state of mild hyperventilation the entire way there.

Any tips on how to enjoy flying are most welcome.

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