My Ongoing, Love-Hate Relationship With Planes

As I’ve been abroad this semester, I’ve tried to reflect on my growth and lessons that I’ve learned while I’ve been here.  One thing that really stuck out to me (and that amazed most of my friends) was my cooperation and tolerance with planes and flying, in general.  Looking back on my entire life and all my interactions associated with planes from start to now, I’ve had a pretty up and down, rollercoaster, love-hate relationship with planes.

 

For starters, I am afriad of flying.  I don’t like heights and I don’t like that you’re in a plane, just hovering over a high altitude, controlled by some stranger who may or may not be capable of flying (how do you know he’s skilled or licensed?).  One of the main reasons I am not a fan of planes and flying on them is because of my dad.  My dad passed away on September 11th, 2001, in the terrorist attacks on the World trade Center.  Hence, my fear of planes and flying since I was little – to me, anything can happen on a plane.

I’m also a very anxious flyer.  Before we take off, I need to make sure I am sitting at the window, with my headphones on, and closing my eyes.  Turbulence scares the hell out of me, and I hate the feeling I get in my stomach like I’m riding a rollercoaster.  However, at the same time, I have to fly often because I attend school, a flight away from New York, in Charleston, South Carolina, so I’ve gotten kind of used to it.  Sometimes when I am excited to come home from school or to go on a vacation, I love planes and can’t wait to get on them and arrive at my destination.  If I have a long flight sometimes I can catch up on sleep, or catch up on writing in my journal, organzing my photos and videos, or watch a TV series I downloaded.

What really triggered this realization of my unique relationship with airplanes was my trip to Switzerland.  When I was in Interlaken, Switzerland, my friends and I decided to go skydiving.  Now, like I said, I’m afraid of heights – so this was a lot for me: FLYING in a tiny little plane at a HEIGHT of 13,000FT!  Climbing into the plane to take off into the Swiss sky, I instantly kicked in my hatred for planes.  I fucking hated this thing.  I wanted to jump right out of it…but not from 13,000ft.  I just wanted out.  As we flew higher and higher in the air and I looked out of the window, I was really scared, but I also really liked the view from above all the mountains and clouds (alright now I kinda like planes again because of this pretty view).
My skydiving instructor starts sliding us forward and lifts open the door, preparing us to jump out of the plane…back to hating this plane.  But wait…at the same time, I love this plane.  It’s the only thing keeping me safe and sturdy for me to stay on instead of jumping out of a plane and falling at a speed of 120mph.  I never want to leave this plane.  Please don’t make me leave this beloved plane, I love it.

3,…2,…1!  Holy shit.  This is unreal.  Skydiving is nuts.  I can’t believe I’m doing this; I can’t believe I’m enjoying this; I can’t believe I’m actually doing this; I like this; I love this.  When my parachute opens up and I start gliding through the air, I can’t stop but laugh and smile and feel so proud, happy.  I love that plane.  That plane made me face my fears.  That plane made me have the funnest time of my life.  That plane was just the final step before experiencing the greatest thing of my life.

My relationship with planes is more complicated than my ex boyfriend (you can only imagine).  

As my time abroad comes to an end, I am sad that I have to leave.  I’m going to hate getting on that plane to fly home, and I’m going to hate to have to accept sitting down on that awful plane, for 8 hours, back to New York.  But then again I’m excited.  I’m excited to see my mom and my family for the first time in four months.  I’m excited to get on the plane that’s going to take me home to see my two dogs and back to my king sized bed.
I’m going to love that plane for bringing me back home to my house, and my family, and my friends, and reality.  It’s just a complicated relationship, me and planes; I love planes, I hate planes; I hate to love planes, and love to hate planes – it is anything but plain.