For anyone who knows me, they know that I have a certain distaste for flying. And that's putting it lightly. I just don't feel comfortable. I don't even know what it is. Thousands of flights leave every day from thousands of airports. The statistics are impeccable with regards to commercial flight safety. And yet during every flight, I seize up, get clammy hands, lose my appetite somewhat and I turn into a shade of my former self. It really is a sight to behold and has, in the past, been a good source of comedy. I suppose it doesn't help that the demeanour of fellow passengers is usually less than desirable. But I digress. What I really wanted to discuss was the notion that flying is just a microcosm of life itself. Life, in a lot of ways, makes me uncomfortable. Love, jobs, friends, health (in no particular order) have all caused me varying levels of anxiety at some point. Things will be up, things will be down, things will be, in a word, turbulent. And in the moment, turbulence always seems like the worse thing in the world to me. But really it is just noise and, in life, there is definitely more than our share of noise. Then something weird always happens to me. I pretend as if I'm someone watching this plane. I don't see any of the noise. I just see a big metal box doing as it should. In the air, going from origin to destination. And I quickly realise, everything is okay. There is no danger, no reason for anxiety. Despite the seeming lack of control, everything is still in control. Eventually, the turbulence will subside. So I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, and calmly choose the next in-flight movie. Regardless of how comfortable I feel, life goes on.
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