The sun is beating down on my steering wheel making it almost too hot to touch. For mid-April, it feels unseasonably warm to me and I take this as an omen. As I make my way to the airport, I convince myself that I am being afforded this beautiful day to enjoy as my last day on earth.

I cut immediately into my thoughts in an attempt to break the runaway train. This drive to the airport will not be my last drive on this road and the sun is shining only because that is what the weather is doing today. The warmth of the steering wheel is making my hands sweat even more until they slide around as I turn the corner. Although I am grateful that I am acutely aware of my flying phobia, I remain fairly concerned about how to manage it over the next couple of hours as I make my way from Saint John to Toronto. I have made a promise to myself to not let my anxiety stop me from partaking in air travel yet, as I slide my car into long-term parking, I am also considering pulling the car back out and leaving to go back home.

Knowing that my friend is waiting for me inside gives me the forceful push I need to turn the car off and grab my bags. I turn and look longingly at my car-perhaps the last time I will see her shiny red paint glimmering in the sun if things should not go well. I wonder if I should have vacuumed it out? I did take it through the car wash so hopefully people will take that into account and not judge so harshly on the crumbs in the back seat. And if I am taking the keys with me, and something untoward should happen, does my husband know where to find the spare set should he need to come get it upon my fiery death? I should text him and let him know they are in the drawer in the kitchen by the dishwasher.

Entering the airport I notice the large green potted plant by the door. It reminds me of a palm tree. My friend meets me as soon as I turn the corner-her smile makes me forget for just a moment that I’m about to get on a death trap. It occurs to me that my friend is exuberant about our trip-we are going to see an author we both love! She shows no signs of worry at all-she is joyful and animated as she is encouraging me to go get checked in so we can go through security. I wonder (briefly) if I am being somewhat ridiculous with the thoughts I’m having. Surely my friend would not voluntarily get on any kind of contraption she thought was unsafe. Nor would she allow me to do the same. I have much respect and admiration for my friend. Yet even wise people can have momentary lapses in judgement. I return to thinking that this is what is happening.

I approach the check in desk and the agent greets me with a smile asking for identification. I respond with my name as if that should suffice to allow me admission to the flight. She repeats the question by adding in “how about photo identification?” I return to earth long enough to dig out my passport and give it to her. As the agent completes the check in, my friend inquires about us sitting together. I promptly interject by clarifying that I’m in the middle of a melt down about the flight and my friend probably will not want to witness my antics in the air.

Both gate agents look at me with pity.

“This flight is so quick though…you’ll be there before you know it! And, if it helps, this is actually my favorite plane to travel on”.

I have noticed whenever I tell someone about my anxiety with flying they kindly attempt to soften the angst with an anecdote. In my calm state, I would be very grateful for her kindness to reassure me. In my heightened anxious state, her revelation about this being her favorite plane really did nothing to soothe my soul. Thanks Linda…because this is your favorite plane I am guaranteed to arrive in one piece.

She continued on by saying “is it the turbulence?”

“Yep…it’s the turbulence”. I say it quickly and definitively because I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m afraid of falling out of the sky and I don’t want to say the words. Additionally Linda, I am also profoundly concerned about the take off and landing as that is where most accidents occur. This part I keep to myself because I’m certain both agents have already pegged me as a nutball.

The agent asks me if I have heard of the “jello theory” in regard to turbulence. I respond by letting her know that I have researched all of the theories, watched plane disasters, follow pilots on Instagram, tried to hypnotize myself and am almost at the point of needing general anesthesia in order to comfortably fly.

At this point, she finally understands what she is dealing with and simply says “oh I am sorry…hopefully this flight will be ok”.

“Ok” meaning not resulting in death and/or dismemberment. I, too, am hoping for this.

We make it through security and board the plane. I am relieved to see the pilot is older than I am. Simultaneously, I wonder when he last had a medical. I inspect the flight crew. How nimble do they look? If we crash into the water are they the ideal candidate to lead me through a disaster? I am apprehensive as I size them up. They look pleasant yet are lacking the John Cena/Dwayne Johnson/Jocko Willink physique and commanding presence I am searching for. I resign myself to the fact that I am going to have to save myself. I look down and realize I have worn my Blundstones and wool socks. These will fill with water and weigh me down should we hit the water. I resolve to try to remember to remove them to increase my chances of survival when the crash happens.

I take my seat and proceed through my series of checks. Important documents in my pocket along with my cell phone and credit card. The safety video begins and I complete all of their instructions. I cinch the seatbelt tighter until I begin to feel it in my lower colon. I loosen it a bit. It aggravates me when they get to the part describing what to do in an “emergency landing”…or as we in the anxiety industry like to call it…a crash. The video tells you to leave all of your belongings on the plane. Nope. That’s why I ensure my pockets are as full as I can have them. If I survive a crash into the water you can bet on the fact that, if I survive, I will have the proper documentation as well as a credit card to get back home.

As the safety demonstration comes to an end and we prepare for take off, I make it a point to remind myself that most terrible things that happen to planes occur during take off and landing. I am also deeply worried about the in-between parts as well, but the take off is now pressing down on me as the priority. I engage in a small life review by making note of every bad decision I have ever made, embarrassing moments I have had, people I really should apologize to and concern about the fact that I have worn my jeans with the rips in them. What is a 47 year old woman doing in jeans with rips in them? I also promise myself that, if I manage to survive the flight, I will drink more water and try to be more patient when I wait in lines.

The engines begin their roar and I feel myself being pushed back into my seat from the force. My pants are soaked with the sweat from my hands which won’t make a difference in a few minutes anyway because the plane is going to explode.

Then, much to my surprise, we ascended into the clouds. I wait for the disaster. It never happens. We land 1 hour and 35 minutes later as the pilot had instructed us at the beginning of the flight. Without incident.

And I realized how thoroughly I have prepared myself for something that didn’t happen. Just like 99% of what I worry about. It simply never happens.