I have always been deeply, spiritually, dramatically uncomfortable with flying. And by uncomfortable, I mean the full theatrical production..crying, hyperventilating, and enough nervous sweat to personally hydrate a small village. Specifically, boob sweat. A truly humbling experience for everyone involved.
There was a time when my pre-flight ritual included washing down a couple Benadryl with a bottle of wine. I even flirted with Xanax for long flights until I woke up drooling on a stranger’s shoulder like a sedated golden retriever on a flight home from Sedona. Nothing bonds two humans faster than waking up mid-flight and realizing you’ve used someone as a pillow for three hours. Phoenix to Charlotte was a learning lesson in personal space for me.
And yet… I never stopped flying. Because I love a vacation more than I hate public humiliation.
For years, the anxiety didn’t live on the plane, it lived in the days leading up to the plane. The countdown. The dread. The dramatic inner monologue. I have friends who are pilots and airplane mechanics who have given me the “flying is safer than driving” speech approximately 4,762 times. Didn’t matter. Anxiety does not respond to logic. Anxiety responds to vibes. And my vibes were screaming. Hell NO!!!!
Then came the career opportunity.
The kind you don’t hesitate on. The kind you say yes to immediately because you worked your butt off for it and you know it’s a door you don’t get twice. Then about 12 minutes later the realization hits…“Oh. This job requires flying twice a month. Cool cool cool cool cool. Love that for me.” And just like that, your girl was now a frequent flyer of what I lovingly refer to as the fart tube.
The problem? I don’t drink anymore. So my former “pharmaceutical cocktail of poor decisions” was no longer available. This was going to require actual growth. Real self-help. The kind where you stare at motivational quotes and whisper “I got this.” The first few work trips… Let’s just say I emotionally packed an extra pair of pants(use your imagination here folks). Every flight got a tiny bit easier. Not because the fear magically disappeared… but because I learned how to manage it.
Turns out, I am wildly superstitious. Or ritualistic. Or slightly unhinged. Jury’s still out. I now sit in the same seat every flight. I do the same pre-flight routine in the lounge. I am on level 4,827 of my crossword app, because nothing distracts your brain from catastrophic thinking like desperately trying to remember a five-letter word for “citrus fruit.” I created a system. A routine. A sense of control in a situation where you have absolutely none.
Growth looks weird sometimes.
Somewhere along the way, the crying stopped. The sweating stopped. The obsessive “we’re definitely falling out of the sky” thoughts got quieter. I still have the occasional oh crap flight where turbulence hits and I instinctively grab the arm of the stranger in 10D like we’re about to survive a “Captain Sully” moment together. Nothing builds community faster than shared panic.
But overall? I’ve adjusted. I board planes now like a professional. A calm, seasoned traveler. A woman who definitely doesn’t google “how planes stay in the air” before boarding anymore. Probably.
The wild part about traveling for work isn’t even the flying. It’s the people. The situations. The adventures you never planned but somehow end up in. Airports are basically reality TV casting locations. You see humanity at its absolute best and absolute weirdest. Business travelers sprinting like Olympic athletes. Families negotiating snacks like hostage situations. People eating tuna at 6 a.m. like it’s a totally normal life choice. Strangers who will tell you their entire life story because you accidentally made eye contact near Gate B12.
Travel humbles you. It stretches you. It drops you into unfamiliar cities and forces you to figure it out. It puts you in uncomfortable situations with purpose. It quietly builds confidence in ways you don’t even notice until one day you realize you’re navigating airports, rental cars, hotel check-ins and strange cities like it’s just… Tuesday. Which is wild considering there was a time I needed sedation and emotional support just to get to cruising altitude.
Some of my favorite life moments have come from saying yes to things that scared me. Trips. Career moves. Adventures. Roller coasters at Dollywood that I absolutely did not sign up for emotionally but somehow survived. Girls trips. New cities. New experiences. Watching my kids grow into adults who are brave and independent and willing to try new things…which feels slightly unfair because now I have to practice what I preached. Turns out you can’t raise brave humans and then refuse to board airplanes. Rude.
Travel has taught me that uncomfortable doesn’t mean wrong. Scary doesn’t mean stop. And growth rarely happens while you’re cozy. Sometimes it happens at 35,000 feet, gripping a crossword puzzle and the armrest like your life depends on it.
And sometimes the wildest part of chasing your dreams… is realizing they come with a boarding pass.
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