Friday, March 22, 2013
Newsflash: I hate flying.
In fact, I'm absolutely petrified of flying.
And before you start throwing all these statistics at me, trust me: I know them.
No one has researched airlines, aircraft safety, and plane crashes more than moi.
I understand that flying is the safest way to get from point A to point B.
It doesn't matter though.
The mere prospect of having to step foot onto an aircraft is enough to get my heart fluttering.
In the days and weeks leading up to a trip involving an airplane (which let's be serious here, that's 95% of them), I seriously reconsider whether I'll go or not.
I tell myself that it's not worth the panic and terror and absolute horror I experience for the one hour or 13 hours that I'm in mid air.
To give you an idea of how severe the issue is for me, one time I turned to Sean and told him "we need to get off this plane right the #*$@ now" as it was taxiing down the runway for take off.
So how do I always end up on planes every few months, you may be wondering?
Becaue it is absolutely worth it-- worth the massive amounts of courage I have to muster up each and every time I get on a plane.
For two reasons really:
One, I dearly love to travel.
And two, what a sad way to live a life: always letting fear dictate what I can and cannot do.
So every single time, I put on my big girls pants and strap on that seat belt and endure one hour or 13 hours of pure terror so I can live the life I want for myself.
Because I want more than what my own limitations would settle for.