“Mom, Mom!” I yelled as I bent over and hurled all over the airport check-in. The butterflies had gotten the best of me. I looked around, ashamed, as several employees started mopping up my mess. I knew this would happen. The whole car ride there I was nauseous, praying I wouldn’t puke. After I threw up, my Mom cleaned me up and we continued to the gate. I boarded thinking I felt better, but as soon as I took my seat next to absolute strangers, I threw up again, and again, until I had to be escorted off the plane. Nobody blamed me though. I was seven years old, flying by myself.
On the depressing car ride home, my Mom gave me an option: I could scrap the whole trip, or I could go back the next day and finish what I started.
I have been traveling to Dallas, Texas, every summer by myself since the first grade. My parents would put me on a plane and send me off to my grandparents. The week I have with them is so fun. I have grown to love these trips and look forward to them yearly, though it didn’t start off that way.
Anticipation can be consuming; worrying about something that hasn’t happened. I used to psych myself out and get too in my head. Overcoming my fear of flying required that I set aside my apprehension and instead embrace hope. Hope that things would be okay. When I went home that night, I had to get my mind right.
I weighed the pros and cons of getting on that plane, and the pros heavily outweighed the cons.
I thought about what I would miss if I stayed. I thought about the effort put into planning this trip and how if I didn’t go, it would all be for nothing. I didn’t want to disappoint people. So, it was decided: the next day I would fly to Dallas.
The butterflies started to flutter again when I awoke. But this time, I told myself,
“Stop, this is silly. You can do this.” And just like that I started my mind down its own runway. I spent the whole morning looking at the itinerary my grandparents sent and imagining a great week. I was slowly picking up my speed and building the confidence I needed to take off.
As we parked the car and my fate set in, my Mom and I gave each other a nod
and got out of the car. We checked in, luckily with no puke, then headed to my gate.
Naturally, we got to the airport with two hours to spare so I had no choice but to sit
with my thoughts. Part of me still wanted to back out, but I was too far in. In my
mind, I was already halfway down the runway, building speed. It would be hard to stop it now.
After what felt like forever, it was time to board. I hugged my Mom so tightly and said goodbye. As I stepped onto the plane, I was at max speed. My heart was beating out of my chest to the point I thought people could hear it. I kept thinking how much this will mean to my grandparents and how ultimately, it will all be worth it. Eventually the plane door closed and we were ready to go.
As the plane lifted off the ground, so did my hopes. I did it.
Once in the air I was perfectly fine. I went on to have an incredible week that started a tradition I still practice today. Sometimes I still struggle with anticipation. New experiences can be nerve racking, but that is no reason to miss out on amazing opportunities. When in doubt, I look back and remember what I need to do: embrace hope and not let my worry ground my journey.
