Seize the Day! (Unless it involves a trip on an airplane)

Fax Machine: I have no idea.

Bernoulli's Principle: Duh.

Ok. I've flown a lot. Growing up as an only child, I was the spoiled brat that hot holidayed with my parents every winter. When I began to stalk date Evan Lindsay, I regularly flew across North America alone to get some action watch him play hockey. When Ev and I moved to the UK, we flew around Europe every chance that we had. Now that we're "settled," we try to jet off to 2 hot destinations per year. You could say that I'm a seasoned flyer. Airplanes do not frighten me. Flying does not frighten me. My science fair project in grade 9 involved "Bernoulli's Principle" (the principle that explains the pressure that keeps airplanes midair). Unlike fax machines, airplanes are not a mystery to me. I "get" airplanes. Airplanes are the safest way to travel. There. I said it. So why, on our flight to Phoenix, did Evan have to pry my sweaty clenched hands off his knee as I rocked back and forth ala "Rainman" chanting, "I don't want to die. I don't want to die."??? Brutal. Seize the day, my ass.

I believe this began 2 years ago on a flight back from Cozumel. The pilot warned us on departure that this would be a "bumpy ride" due to strong headwinds. Whatevs. I was cool. Well into hour 2 of the plane dropping and shaking violently from side to side, I was beginning to panic. Once the lights and TV's blinked and faded off, I was quite certain we were crashing. Passengers began crying, throwing up - it was quite horrible, actually. Unfortunately, I was not sitting beside Ev. He was 2 rows back in a drug-induced coma post bad Mexican guts. All I could think of was, "we won't even die together." Of course we landed safely in Toronto and I chalked it up to one shitty ass flight with bad headwinds. Everyone has that story about that one horrible flight, right? As you sip your wine at the staff xmas party, you chime in, "Well, this one flight was sooo bad...." Everyone loves a good "near crash experience" tale.

Now would be an appropriate time to panic

This time, we were descending into Phoenix amidst a thunderstorm. Lightening lit up the night sky, illuminating the trembling wings. The turbulence was disturbing enough to cause passengers to lift their heads curiously from their books, buckle their seatbelts, and grip their armrests. No one was throwing up, no one was sobbing, no one appeared to be panicking....except for me. I don't quite know when it started, all I remember is turning and looking at Evan. His eyes were as big as saucers and his eyebrows were halfway up his forehead. He was giving me his, "What the hell is wrong with you?" look. I've seen that look before. Once, as we were driving in from the lake, I witnessed a fox running alongside the road with a dead baby fawn in it's mouth and I ugly sobbed (you know - contorted face, loud gulping noises?) for 50 kilometers. 50 kilometers of ugly sobbing!  Finally, Ev gave me the "What the hell is wrong with you look?" and said, "So, you're really going to do this, huh?" It was that exact same look. I knew I was overreacting, but I could not help myself. I was quite convinced the plane was going down. The air was much too thin to fill my lungs. My body shook. Tears streamed down my face. "Get me off this f'n plane, " I hissed. Ev calmly held my hand, "Just breathe. You're fine." As the plane finally touched down safely, initially, I felt relief. Then I felt...like a complete and total idiot. Um..I think I just had a panic attack. On a plane. The pilot did not die from foodpoisoning, leaving a blow-up doll at the controls, we did not crash into the andes, forced to survive on (gulp) each other, there were no mother f'n snakes on the mother f'n plane. It was a complete overreaction to some turbulence in a thunderstorm. Brutal.  

And stop calling me Shirley!

Sipping my paralyzer by the pool the next day (retirement is sooo good people), I began to analyze my reaction to the flight. Was it the fear of actually crashing? The fear of having no control? The fear of what waited for me on "the other side?" No. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was afraid of missing out. You know when you're a kid and your parents make you go to bed early. You lie in bed wondering what fantastic events could be taking place without you? The thought actually occurred to me, "Man, I have such an awesome year ahead,  full of amazing goals, fantastic people, and now I'm going to die. Bummer." But, the purpose of my year long experiment is to seize the day! Live my life to the fullest! How can I do that if I'm scared? I was brave enough to attempt a trick on a longboard. I was brave enough to play the flute (horribly) in front of an audience. I'm brave enough to tackle a new language. There's no room for fear in my year! The purpose of this year is to channel Ryan's "no fear" attitude and zest for life. Ryan would roll his eyes at me and say, "F Kirst! get over it!" I mean, how am I going to sign our realtor papers in insert name of tropical country here  if I can't frickin' get on a plane??? So end of story. Fear of flying officially over. Done.
Sin Miedo! (my first Spanish phrase. I think it means, "no fear" but I can't be certain just yet).