Unfortunately, I remember all too vividly the first time I threw up on an airplane. In fact, by the end of the flight, it ended up being five times in total. After that experience, I continued to throw up on every flight I took until I was 14 years old, and I am now nearing 16 years old. The thought of flying thousands of feet in the air in some kind of contraption has never been pleasant to me. Whenever I step onto an airplane, I feel as though I am handing my life to the pilots, helpless toward my fate with zero control of my own body. That lack of control is unsettling, but I know this is common, as it is not unusual for people to be afraid of flying. But why is flying so scary?
“Flying in a plane is so much safer than driving a car, and you do that every day,” a dreaded sentence and the one I hear on almost every flight. While I love my dad for trying to comfort me, his saying this does not settle my nerves whatsoever. No statistic or logic is ever able to ease the utmost nausea in my stomach, no matter how accurate it is. I am extremely grateful to have the opportunity to fly, and every flight has been fine. But turbulence or not, there is always that lingering feeling — that persistent thought that this time, something will go wrong.
Fear is persistent and lingering. It shows up even when I know everything will be fine, but most of all, it shows up when I do not want it to. My experiences have led me to believe that fear is controllable — to a certain extent. When it comes to flying, fear is uncontrollable. When it comes to roller coasters, it is controllable. I was always terrified of roller coasters until my dad dragged me onto the acclaimed VelociCoaster at Universal Islands of Adventure. Since then, I have been obsessed with roller coasters, and have never had doubts before getting on one. But with planes, I still have doubts every time.
Do not get me wrong — I love to travel and visit new places. Every state or city I have visited is one I will never forget. But it is not about the destination, it is the excruciating journey it takes to get there.
I have tried absolutely everything to overcome this fear. Breathing exercises, watching movies and even switching between the aisle, window and middle seat. I have come to find out that I am the least nervous when I am in the aisle seat, and since then, I have called dibs on it every time.
I cannot hide from airplanes, as I travel to New Jersey every summer. It is about a two-and-a-half-hour flight — easy, right? Last summer, my family and I were on our flight to New Jersey, and for the first time in 13 years, I did not feel the slightest bit nervous. I looked over at my brother, and it was as if we had swapped bodies. He was pale and shivering, and I was perfectly fine. It was hard to differentiate if I had grown out of it or overcome it. Either way, I felt so free. My poor brother, on the other hand, most definitely did not. I guess the throwing-up gene runs in the family — thanks, mom. I spent years certain that I was trapped in a battle I could never win. But somewhere in between all those takeoffs and landings, fear gave up on me. As the wheels slammed against the runway and the plane landed, I realized I was fine, and that I had made it. Made it not just through the flight, but through the fear itself.
