I have to admit to fighting some travel-specific anxiety today. One would think I’d be excited to be going back to Oklahoma tomorrow but I am a little anxious about spending several hours on a plane and jet lag and spending 10 days away from Ben and all of the general stressors of travel.
I remember the excitement of my first flight. I was 14; we were going to Orlando. On the other side of this giant tin can of engineering was my brother and Disney World. The plane wasn’t packed full, like they are these days, and we all got to sit together. We had snacks and soft drinks on the plane. I looked out over the tiny landscape, which looked like a diorama of real life. I loved the beginning of the flight and how you could feel the rush of force against you as the plane took off, rising, rising, your ears popping and eyes widening at this totally new sensation. I loved the luxury of having a soft drink poured for me into a tiny cup of ice, the condensation rolling off the cold can onto the tiny desks built into the seats. I loved the glossy magazines full of terribly overpriced and impractical goods that you could order RIGHT FROM THE PLANE. It was so exciting and glamorous!
But 19 years and many, many flights later, flying has lost its sheen. I hate flying. I don’t like the lines and there are ill-defined lines everywhere. I can never remember to take off my shoes and a TSA agent will make me go back and forth through the scanner repeatedly because I have forgotten that my cell phone is in my back pocket because I had to wake up BEFORE THE BIRDS to be at the airport. I hate how tiny everything is. I have gotten bigger than my 10-year-old self, and the seats have become too small for me to sit comfortably. And no matter how tiny you are, or your neighbor is, you are going to get jabbed with an elbow or run over by a snack cart because everything in the plane is made to barely fit as many people as possible. I hate how everyone is stressed out and frustrated. Their flights are late or have been cancelled and can they make the connection? I hate the unexplained delays and cancelled flights. And should your flight by some miracle be on time, you’re still making the people on stand-by angry by showing up to your flight. I hate that you have to show up two hours early just to sit in uncomfortable seats across from other people who also hate flying. (And then your flight will probably be delayed, so make that six hours of staring at people who are actively loathing you and flying and their very lives.)
The flight to Germany was the longest I have ever been on a plane. My hips ached from sitting in the exact same position for so long. During the seven hour flight, I got up only one time (to use the restroom and there was a line of five people waiting. Because of course, there are two restrooms for a cabin of almost 300 people.) I tried to sleep, but sleep on a plane is the worst sort: sitting straight up (because if you lean your seat back the two inches it will recline, you’ll crush the person behind you), no neck support, babies crying, lights on all around you, with a roaring engine for white noise. And turbulence to jolt you awake every now and again. I was too tired to read, too tired to write, I had forgotten to download music to my phone and had nothing to listen to. It was singularly one of the worst flights I have ever experienced.
Our flight took off at 10:30 at night and arrived in Germany the next afternoon (there’s a seven hour time difference). We checked into the hotel, deposited our bags and changed into different, less plane-smelling clothes. Ben’s sponsor took us to get phone cards and pick up our most basic groceries. By the time that task was finished, I was out. Done. Dead on my feet. Ben and Dan dropped me and the groceries back at the hotel and Ben told me not to sleep until bed time if I could help it. I couldn’t. I fell asleep at something like 6:00 PM and woke at 3:00 AM. My sleep didn’t normalize for about a week. I was moody and irrational and every. single. thing. made me want to throw something.
So the thought of making that same terribly long flight twice in the next two weeks is giving me a little bit of anxiety. If I come to see you on this Oklahoma trip, please be patient with me. I will be sleepy, missing my husband, and generally irritable. I will really try to put my bad moods in a box while I’m there, I will take melotonin to make myself go to sleep and set alarms to remind me to eat, but no guarantees.
Whatever Comes Next 