To Fly

I have a fear of flying.

There. I’ve said it.

Close friends have known this for years. Acquaintances probably have suspected it. Some are puzzled: “But you flew to Europe, and to Australia—a 24-hour flight!” Yep. I did. But I never felt comfortable or relaxed in the air, except for one time: my very first flight, when I traveled to Florida at age 10 with my grandmother. I was fascinated by how the world looked from up above, and I liked the in-flight “tour” the captain gave as we passed over various cities and Disney World. (I swear to God, it was shaped like Mickey Mouse ears back then. Or maybe my childhood enthusiasm resulted in a false visual memory….)

Over time, I guess I read too many stories about hijackings and crashes, and thought too much about all the things that could go wrong. So, six years later, when I flew to Europe with my high school French Club, I was nervous. Once we were in the air and cruising over the Atlantic, a well-meaning classmate who sat next to me on the plane explained that we were safe at that point, because it’s the takeoff that’s most dangerous and most crashes happen within the first two minutes. That helped me relax a bit for that particular flight, but it made me doubly nervous on takeoff for the flight back home. On every flight since then, I have counted out 2 minutes in my head, in between each line of frantic prayer.

Not that I’ve been on all that many flights since then—in fact, I have flown fewer than 20 times in my lifetime, I believe. But I do board planes on rare occasion, with the help of doctor-prescribed pharmaceuticals and a travel companion. (I can’t fly alone because the medicine makes me sleepy. It’s just as well—it would be embarrassing to dig my fingernails into the arms of a stranger every time turbulence awakens me.) The incentive has to be really, really strong for me to get on an airplane; either I really, really want to visit, or I’m somehow obligated to visit, a particular destination for which there isn’t a viable travel alternative. And so, I’ve flown round-trip to: Arizona and Lousiana for college bowl games, since I was in the band; Australia for my job as a magazine editor; Rhode Island for a job-related symposium and graduation; Florida on a few family vacations; and back home to Maryland from California after going there via train. And that’s about it. My son has flown more in the last 2 years than I have in the last 20.

It’s Not Just Fear

It’s not only about fear, really. I love to drive, and so I’m quite happy driving anywhere I can—even long solo trips don’t faze me, because I enter a pleasant “Zen zone” on the highway. I also have discovered in recent years that I really enjoy train travel; I find it relaxing. I took the train from D.C. to L.A. in 2012, and loved every minute of it. I go to New York, Philadelphia, and Florida via Amtrak fairly often. So, my enjoyment of other forms of transportation is legit, and not just an excuse to avoid flying.

Another factor: I have a chronic autoimmune disease which tends to flare up after flights. Admittedly, that is probably in part because of fear-induced stress and adrenaline, which uses up a lot of energy that my body cannot restore easily or quickly. Practically speaking, running through airports, lugging and lifting heavy luggage, experiencing prolonged ear pain from air pressure and altitude, and inevitably being exposed to ill passengers, all create health-related setbacks, so they are other factors that tend to keep me on the ground.

And the hassle! I don’t know anyone who likes dealing with airports, security lines, baggage checks, delays, cancellations, overbooking, pre-dawn or post-midnight flight times, crying babies, and rude passengers. Well, neither do I!

Trying to Rationalize Won’t Help

Many friends have tried to help by reciting the usual assurances to show that my flight fears are irrational. But I can reverse rationalize with the best of them, and I think that my points are just as valid as theirs.

• You’re more likely to die in a car wreck. Yeah, but that’s largely because most of us get into a car every day of our lives, whereas we step onto a plane much less often. I’ll take my survival chances in a car or train wreck over a plane crash, thank you, because those situations don’t usually involve hurtling to the earth from 5 miles in the sky.
• Flying is the safest form of transportation, statistically. Yep—when looking at the number of crashes vs. the number of safe flights. Or the number of fatalities compared to the number of passengers. Can’t argue with that. In fact, the statistics cited in this article are pretty amazing and would convince me, if I based my life decisions on statistics alone. But I don’t. And while statistics can help analyze trends, they don’t always help much with predictive analysis—just ask the loved ones of the 720 people a year (on average) who stepped onto that 1-in-5-million flight that did crash. Because although unlikely, it does happen. Statistics and I have a bad track record (ask my doctor!) so I’d rather not take those odds.
• Fear of flying is just a control-freak thing. There is a little bit of truth to this, I’m sure. One of my recurring nightmares is being in a plane that develops in-flight problems and is clearly going to crash, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. In contrast, as a car’s driver I do have at least some control in most situations: I can pull to the side if the engine light comes on or a tire goes (I’ve handled blowouts twice), and I can steer free of potential accidents in most cases—a skill I’ve honed on I-95 and the D.C. Beltway. So, yeah, I prefer to be in control of my safety as much as I can; but why is this seen as a negative?
• Advanced technology has reduced instances of pilot error and increased overall safety. I know this, and it’s great! But I’ve worked for a high-tech government agency for 30 years, and one thing I’ve learned about technology is that the more we depend on it to do things for us, the less able we are to do those things by ourselves when necessary—for example, in emergencies. Who knows their family members’, or even their own, phone number these days, and how many people can navigate using an actual map instead of relying on Siri or GPS? If a few telecommunications satellites ever fail, we’re all screwed. Similarly, after years of relying on automatic piloted cruising and technology-guided takeoffs and landings, how many pilots could safely land a plane on the water, in the middle of a densely populated area, after total engine failure, while in manual mode? Captain Sully. That’s who. No one else. And he’s retired now, alas.
• I have also become all too aware of: the downsides to “lowest bidder” contracts; the wide range of abilities and varying standards in any given career field; and the many ways explosive devices or other dangerous items can still be smuggled on board, despite the abundance of post-9/11 security measures. I know those things can happen on trains, too, but again—train accidents do not involve hurtling 5 miles from the sky.

So yes, for all of these reasons (and more), I choose to work with the statistics and decrease my odds of dying in a plane crash even more by rarely boarding one. In my next 50 years, I will do what I’ve done for the first 50: I will occasionally get on a plane, but no amount of rationalization will ever make me feel comfortable on one. I’m sorry that this seems to agitate or offend people, for some reason.

Which Phobias are Socially Acceptable?

And that’s the thing that bothers me: the reaction of others to my phobia. For years, I rarely admitted to my fear of flying because of the comments it almost always evoked. If I talked about disliking air travel, most people would nod and agree. But if I used the word afraid, a judgmental tone would appear and I’d be subjected to the usual litany of reasons why no one should be afraid to fly. I felt embarrassed and sometimes even a bit ashamed. Recently, a new emotion emerged when I thought of these reactions: a mixture of mild anger and frustration over the unequal treatment of phobias.

Over the years, I’ve met lots of people with various phobias: fear of insects, dogs, cats, water, the number 13, a closed door. I don’t think less of people with these phobias, I don’t tease them, and I don’t see others throwing statistics at them as a reason to just stop being afraid. Why do people who are afraid of heights get sympathy and nods of understanding, while people with a fear of flying are lectured or even ridiculed?

I try my best to practice empathy over judgment. But for a moment, let’s get a little judgmental. On an imaginary “validity scale” of fears, I believe that mine is nearer to “justified” than to “unfounded.” Let’s look at a few—and to be clear, I am not judging anyone who experiences any of these phobias; I’m just using them to illustrate.

• Many people are afraid of clowns—who are simply other people wearing bright clothing and makeup with a goal of making people smile.
• Others are afraid of snakes or spiders, most of which are harmless.
• I personally know two people who are afraid of specific colors, which aren’t even living things and thus are incapable of harming anyone.
• I’m afraid of an activity that involves sitting in a mass-produced metal cylinder which is speeding along at 500 mph 30,000 feet above the earth’s surface, breathing in germs and stale recycled air, placing my life in the hands of total strangers: a pilot and crew who may or may not be 100-percent focused (or sober); air traffic controllers who may or may not fall asleep on the job; every passenger on the flight, who may or may not be contagious or dangerous and probably paid no attention to the pre-flight emergency briefing, even if they were sitting at the emergency exit doors; and every single person who tightened a bolt, fueled the tanks, checked hydraulics, or loaded luggage onto that plane…. to name just some.

With those examples in mind, I have to ask, comparatively speaking:

Is my fear really the most irrational one?

Maybe so, in most travelers’ views. But I’ve decided that I will no longer apologize for my aviophobia. If it makes me a lesser person, then I am joined in those ranks by the likes of Doris Day, Isaac Asimov, and Ronald Reagan. (That sounded like the beginning of an “all-got-on-a-plane” joke.)

Faux Flying Experiences

The ironic part of my fear of flying is that I have had a lifelong desire to experience flight. Not within a plane’s cabin, though: true flight. Moving through the air like birds do, floating on a breeze while soaring over beautiful scenery or interesting sites, feeling the rush of the wind created by a rapid dive. Three things I discovered as a young adult fueled this fascination with flight: the book Jonathan Livingston Seagull; the documentary To Fly, which I first saw on a school field trip to D.C.; and the flying bike scene in the movie E.T. (I know, I know! But when I hear that great John Williams score and Elliott’s bike lifts off right at the musical climax….it still gets me, 30 years later, every time I see it.)

And so I’ve sought out ways to approximate a flying experience as much as possible without having the benefit of wings, and without resorting to “Jackass”-type, unsafe stunts. I call it “faux flying.”

I ride roller coasters—the higher and faster, the better. That first hill? Nirvana. Favorite coasters? Apollos’ Chariot and Alpengeist, both at Busch Gardens Williamsburg. Alas, I have had to cut down on roller coaster rides in recent years, because they sometimes induce vertigo.

Speaking of amusement parks, some of those popular POV movie-enhanced rides are well-done and realistic. My favorite is Soarin’ at Disney’s Epcot Center, which really does make it feel like you’re moving, soaring, swooping over world landmarks.

I drive a convertible, and ride with the top down as much and as fast as possible/safe, although admittedly not always within posted speed limits. I don’t get much happier than on a perfect fall day, “flying” on the highway with my hair whipping in the wind. Sheer joy.

I’ve thought about skydiving, but you can probably figure out the dealbreaker with that activity. However, three years ago I did the next-best-thing: floating high up in the air on a parachute, launched from the ground rather than from a plane. During a visit with my Aunt Nancy on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, the two of us went parasailing with Sky Pirate Parasail, whose ads promised the island’s highest altitude and longest ride. Nancy had parasailed before with other companies, and she’s pretty sure that Sky Pirate’s claims are correct.

I loved the ascent, loved the view, and was surprised at how totally serene it was 500 feet above the water. I was not all that comfortable, however, with the 5-minute hover at the zenith. That’s when I became painfully aware of two things: we were so high up that the boat looked as small as a Cracker Jack toy; and we were, in effect, caught in the middle of a tug of war between a speeding boat and a parachute, both fueled by powerful forces. That’s also when Nancy said, “Okay. Now I’m scared,” and I started to plan how we might survive a catastrophe if a gust sent us spiraling down, or the rope snapped. Just as I was about to give the pre-established signal to reel us back in if there were any problems (although I doubt the crew would see it from that distance), there was a tug on the rope as we began to be pulled back down. Overall, it was enjoyable, and I loved the feeling of flight as the boat pulled us through the air. But now that I’ve crossed that off my list, I don’t feel a pressing need to do it again. At least, not before my 70th birthday.

One “faux flying” experience I would definitely do again is to go ziplining. On a trip to visit my friends Steve and Stephanie in Florida (note: I drove there, alone), we spent a day at Gator World near Orlando—which I highly recommend as an educational and fun place to visit. Steve and I took advantage of an experience called the Screamin’ Gator Zipline. Five ziplines encircle the park, and you complete the circuit over about 90 minutes. By my guess, 87 of those minutes are spent walking from one tower to another, climbing the stairs, and waiting your turn. But the thrill of free-falling, mostly horizontal flight at relatively fast speeds (up to 30 mph) is worth the time disparity.

To add some variety, two of the ziplines are special. One of the towers has dual lines, allowing for two-person “zipper” races. (For the record, I beat Steve to the finish line.) The other sends you flying over the Nile Crocodile habitat, adding another layer of danger and daring. For as we learned that day, while alligators usually don’t attack unless they’re ravenous, crocodiles will just come after you for no reason at all. That’s why you should never smile at a crocodile, lest he take it the wrong way and show you HIS pearly whites, up close—which we were privileged (and terrified) to see later during a nighttime tour. But that’s a story for another time.

Apres-Flight Thoughts

So, you most likely are thinking by now, “For a seemingly intelligent person, she seems not to understand that ziplining and parasailing are statistically more dangerous than traveling on a plane.” Trust me, I do know that. I’ve researched it, I’ve thought a lot about it, and the best way to explain it is to say that statistics only show the raw data, the numbers, and often without context. Most amusement park accidents seem to be caused by passengers not following proper procedures, unsafe conditions at the venue, or unsafe practices by the staff. I try to make good decisions based on observation, research, and gut feeling. I won’t get on a wobbly ferris wheel at a traveling carnival, and I will never, ever bungee jump unless I’m a contestant on The Amazing Race.

Which is unlikely to happen, since teams competing on that show must take more than 30 flights all around the world, including on some small airlines that equate to those wobbly carnival ferris wheels. Then again, that might be just the type of exposure therapy I need to get past my fear of flying.

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