Okay, so if you read the last post, I went on a ten day trip to England the summer after my first year of teaching. It was the first time I flew, and I was very excited about it. We had a night flight, so we flew all night and arrived at 8:00 am in Manchester. Well, the flight over was less then stellar. I was in the dead middle of a row with like ten people on either side of me – ten sleeping people. So, when I needed to go to the restroom, I had to maneuver through a game of Twister; there were limbs and snores and drool and gaping mouths everywhere. I stood by the bathroom most of the night because I couldn’t stand to be locked in by those hot-breathed bodies. So I wasn’t afraid, just a little freaked out by the circumstances surrounding my seat.

On the return flight, I was able to scoop up an aisle seat on the very last row. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I watched the movies and listened to the airplane music and watched the screen that showed us progressing across the Atlantic and ate my peanuts, etc…

Later that same summer I flew to Miami with my mom. After we were married, Chris and I flew to Miami and New Orleans, and I really enjoyed flying. But I have only flown once in the past six years (the child-bearing years), and now I am wigged out about flying. My heart is racing and my breath is shallow just typing about flying. I kid you not.

My last flight was not pretty either. I fully expected Jesus to take me home that afternoon. Chris and I were with a group from his company, and I acted like a complete loon. He was sweet not to tell me how much I’m sure I embarrassed him. I sobbed and sat very still staring at my Bible opened on my lap, silently mouthing the words to Joshua 1:9. I know that’s freakish. I know, I know.

Chris and I are going to California for our ten-year anniversary trip in about a week, and we ain’t driving, so I’m thinking a lot about flying these days. I think the fact that I’m a mom has affected my desire to fly; I feel like I need to be around for my girls, so I prefer not to perish in a fiery mangled plane crash. And September 11. And the whole gravity-defying aspect really messes with me now.

So how have I gone from a person who enjoyed flying to one with a completely irrational fear of flying? And in my head I know all of the facts, but I firmly believe that my heart is going to burst and I am going to throw up and I may begin to scream hysterically as we accelerate down the runway. My stomach is churning as I type. Where’s the A Team when you need ’em? Can anybody hook me up with some Mr. T medication? I want to be on his flight plan.

Just kidding, sorta…