Some of you have asked about my issues with flying in relation to my recent trip to New York, and here’s what I can tell you: I will never love it. It will never be something I do without thinking, there’s just too many issues with me requiring absolute personal control over every part of my life for me to treat it that blithely.
A few of you asked about self-medicating and I won’t deny having had a big old screwdriver before leaving my apartment on Saturday morning. I try to think of this more as “starting the party early” than “drinking to forget,” but all it really does is take the edge off while I’m waiting to board. I also took a painkiller before my return flight and that did make me sleepy, but really I think both methods are just placebos to trick me a little. I’m fine with that.
I’ve also found that flying early helps. If you get up, roll out of bed and go straight to the airport, for one thing you’re probably dead-ass tired and for another you get to your destination with a whole day ahead of you. The less time I have to build it up in my head the better we all fare.
On this particular trip both flights were actually really fine. The flight out of Cleveland was on a small jet (departing gate was in Concourse D...fucking Concourse D) and my original seat assignment had me in the last row, wedged against the window, a seat technically called “16C” but one that should just be labeled “unacceptable.” Fortunately at check-in I was able to bump myself up to 5A, a seat that has the advantage of being both window and aisle. Close to LaGuardia I opened the window shade and started taking pictures of the ground below, which was totally awesome until I saw another plane fly underneath us, a sight that was at once startling, awe-inspiring and ridiculously weird. Then our small jet banked to turn right, and the ground disappeared and my view swung up toward the sky and I thought, well, I think I have had enough of that for now.
I took two cameras on my trip and kept both of them in my carry-on bag. At the Cleveland terminal I arrived at my gate over an hour and a half before boarding and so I started walking around and taking pictures. (This is one of my favorites although my co-worker told me it looks like an indie album cover.) A lot of them were bad and will probably never see the light of day, but I practiced using my manual settings and metering on gray things and all the other stuff I am learning about, and part way through all of that I discovered I felt pretty relaxed. There were a lot of pictures that I saw this weekend and did not take because when I am with my friend either my ears are open or my mouth is open, but I love that my eyes can see things framed through a viewfinder. And I love that the world’s beauty – even through its ugliness – is always jumping out for you to see, if you just focus for a minute.
And I guess that is why flying bothers me less.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
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5 comments:
I find it incredibly brave that you fly even though you have a fear involving it and I also appreciate you talking about it. I have a hard time understanding when people have a fear of flying or water since those are two things that just excite me to no end. So now I am working to understand what it is about these things that scare people other than the obvious. Also I love your flight photos! Fantastic!
As a kid we flew quite often and I loved it. When I became an adult I developed this intense fear of it, stressing for weeks before the flight, unable to sleep, etc. I drove places, even if it took days, rather than fly. When I did fly, drinking helped in my case too. Luckily I never got so drunk I ended up on the news. I am glad to say that for some reason I have finally stopped freaking out about it. I don't love it like I used to and I still worry, but don't lose sleep over it anymore. Maybe I learned that it does me no good to stress anyway. Hope you get to that point someday.
Fucking Concourse D. AMEN!
Isn't it the worst? Arrive at the airport late, get gate D17, know instantly you're fucked completely.
Concourse D always seemed like the bastard child of the concourses. Or some sort of Hopkins purgatory. And why is it that whenever I was in a hurry to get to concourse D I always had to scramble around people who found it a nice time to leisurely "amble" to concourse D?? Kudos to Sarah: Fucking Concourse D.
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