Flying – the love and hate of it

I think my fear of flying started in my mid-teens and sometimes I get the feeling the older I get, the more anxious it makes me. I probably ‘tolerate’ it a lot better than I used to – in my mid 20s, it was a white-knuckle ride from beginning to end, and even going to the airport to pick someone up was enough to turn my stomach.

In the last 8 years, I have probably done some 400 flights, the majority of it work related. I still have a fear of flying and a huge distaste for turbulence but I think I have managed to move beyond the sheer terror that I felt some 20 years ago. Yes, I still have a whine and moan if the seat belt sign gets turned on during the flight and my palms get sweaty, yet among this all, I also have a fascination with watching the world below from upwards of 30000 feet.
 
The beauty of deep azure and fluffy bright white clouds astounds me and I marvel at how this was all created, and what a sense of humour was behind these big puffs of cotton. Sunsets and sunrises are majestic and magical. I value the time that I am in the air because no one can reach me, I have time to think, to (try to) comprehend issues of the moment, have a little cry sometimes, but most of all, to take a moment to thank the ‘powers above’ for the life I have, that I can travel and see the world, and for all my blessings.