While it’s true that I am adventure hungry, I have a love/hate relationship with flying.
On one hand, flying is fun. I mean, you’re in a big aluminum tube miles and miles above the earth’s surface, barreling towards your destination faster than the speed of sound. That’s just cool. In-flight movies are always interesting—half the time I decide not to watch the whole thing, and stick to listening to music and writing something instead, but I’ve seen a few winners before. The food isn’t too bad, depending on what airline you take. And there’s the thrill of the adventure to come that creeps over you as you’re floating along. And if a storm hits while you’re in mid-air, that really exiting, and I’m not being sarcastic. One of the highlights of my flight over to Croatia last year was when the most everyone on the plane was asleep and we hit a storm.
On the other hand—well, you’re in a big aluminum tube miles and miles above the earth’s surface. All kinds of not-so-great things could happen while you’re up there. For someone with an active imagination and a list of phobias including (but not limited to) a fear of heights, flying can be a wee tiny tad nerve-wracking. That, and I can’t sleep on planes. I have a hard time sleeping anywhere, including my own bed (see yesterday’s post). On a plane, you have a whole lot of people, small children included, packed into a very small space. Every rustle and/or bloodcurdling infantile scream is perfectly audible from any place in the cabin. No amount of sleep medication or ear plugs will cancel out the noise. Taking international flights (which is the only reason I’ve ever found myself on a plane) means I will be awake for over twenty-four hours. That’s not my idea of a party.
Now, let’s take all that and add in the fact that I will be flying alone for the first time ever.
On one hand, I’m really excited about this. This trip will be an experiment in whether or not my plans of becoming a world-traveling-writer-nomad are actually plans I want to keep. I will have a chance to meet new people on the plane, and I can swallow my introvertedness long enough to call this a good thing. The eight hours across the Atlantic where I will be wide awake while the rest of the plane is sleeping means I will get about eight hours of thinking time. That’s kind of happy.
On the other hand, I’m flying alone. Both I and my (also extremely imaginative) father are nervous about this. Thank goodness for long layovers, because if I happen to get lost in the airport, I’ll have four or five hours to figure out where I am. Thankfully I will also have a layover in a country where I speak the language, so I can beg for help if need be.
All fear aside—God wants me in Croatia. I’m sure of this. Since He wants me there, He’ll get me there safely. God is bigger than an airplane. No need to fear.