Lisa Davis: Fear of flying
Apr 29, 2012 | 1788 views |  0 comments | 4 4 recommendations | email to a friend | print
I did something this weekend I haven’t done in years.

I got on a plane.

Usually, if our family has somewhere far to go, I force us to road trip. I hate flying.

It’s not that I’m scared that the plane will crash or anything. I’m scared I’ll throw up.

The very first time I flew on a plane, as a freshman in college, I got airplane ear and couldn’t hear out of the right side of my head for the next 48 hours. I also discovered that I get airsick.

The second time I flew on a plane, I medicated myself with Dramamine and was in a fog for the next 48 hours. Someday I’d really like to get back to Seattle and see what I missed.

There was the memorable business trip to Washington, D.C., with my boss, when I really, really regretted having that pineapple smoothie before boarding.

I’m also snakebit when it comes to flying. Even though I’ve only flown a handful of times in the past decade, there has been trouble EVERY SINGLE TIME.

When I was coming back from hiking the Appalachian Trail, laden with an enormous backpack and longing to get back to civilization and a hot bath, the plane was delayed due to mechanical failure.

When we flew to a family funeral with a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old, the plane was delayed for three hours.

Back when we lived in Texas, we would frequently visit family in Alabama. We did the math and figured out it really wasn’t that much quicker to fly than to drive, once you added in the hour to drive to the airport, the hour to get through security, the hour at baggage-claim and the two hours to drive from the airport. Oh, and the extra half-hour I spent in the bathroom after getting off the plane.

It hasn’t gotten any easier since the last time I flew. Does anybody know if Burt’s Bees Lip Shimmer counts as a gel or not?

Will a copper necklace set off the metal detector?

Yes, that was me holding up the line at security.

I drove an hour to the airport, spent an exorbitant amount of money on close-in parking, still had to hike to the terminal, then had to unpack the bag I’d just packed, take off my shoes, wait in one line, then another line, then another line, had to squeeze myself into a narrow airplane seat with no legroom — boy, those things certainly haven’t gotten any bigger — had to share an armrest with a complete stranger, my ears kept popping, there was turbulence that made me queasier than normal, and I didn’t even get a bag of peanuts.

I think it would be easier to travel by stagecoach.

Although I have to admit, the view is great from up there. When else do you get to see the tops of clouds?
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