While returning from vacation on Wednesday, I kept thinking about Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz clicking her heels to go home. I think I even clicked mine a few times - just in case. Why? Well, I’m afraid of heights - flying is really not something I look forward to and unfortunately I discovered I was flying co-pilot back to the mainland in a tinny, tiny plane…Holy crap!
I had just spent five glorious days in Martha’s Vineyard with my college friend and we were sitting outside the adorable airport waiting for my flight. I say “adorable” because the airport at Martha’s Vineyard appears like the quintessential New England beach house welcoming travelers, no ugly concrete or steel hurting your eyes here. Baggage claim is a couple guys lifting a small, glass garage door and placing your luggage on an inverted shelf for you to pick up five minutes after your plane lands…Not exactly LaGuardia.
So there we are looking out on the small airfield and my amused friend says eyeing me, “Hey, those are pretty small planes out there – I bet you’re on one.” Quickly my eyes dart from plane to plane looking for my airline, Cape Air.
At that very moment, I vaguely recall some folks joking with us earlier on the trip about flying back to the mainland on “Cape Fear.” I had a flash of moments before when I was checking in at the ticket counter - they had needed to know my weight and weighted all my carry-on bags – even my purse…Holy crap, the innuendo at the bar was now becoming all too clear as I saw the plane with “Cape Air” on the tail. There were only five windows down the side of the plane. Mother of God I think it only sat 10 people in all. I started sweating at that moment.
Fifteen minutes later I was standing on the tarmac next to the man who was giving us our seat assignments. He looks directly at me and said, “Co-pilot.” What? Is that legal? Freaking co-pilot! All I can think of is my husband…He has a burning desire to fly planes yet here I am being assigned co-pilot. God certainly has a sense of humor…
Within moments I am in the co-pilot’s seat, nervously giggling to the pilot, “I am not taking over mid-flight. I’m sure you’ve flown a million times…Right?” Needless to say, I am screwed. I wrapped my arms around me lest I grab the controls by mistake or touch one of the many buttons, gadgets in front of me – just because.
The take off was ok. I did not like being in this tiny plane flying over the sea. It’s already little bouncy in a small plane, so it is not a far stretch to imagine yourself tumbling down from the sky…I kept thinking Angelina Jolie is an idiot – who the hell would choose to do this for an afternoon of pleasure? I watched the flight time tick by on the control board’s clock and pretended to enjoy the scenery from my flying coffin.
Praying really began on the descent. I tried hard to block visions of a fiery grand finale to our flight by incessantly praying the “Our Father” during touchdown. Actually, it was the smoothest landing I have ever experienced.
On one of my next flights that day I sat next to a man had who climbed Mt. Everest a few years ago. I exclaimed that was not for me as I am afraid of heights (besides the fact I don’t like the cold, sleeping in a tent for days on end, eating crappy food, risking my life to reach any summit…) He informed me he was also afraid of heights – he did it to face his fears.
I smiled and thought, “Been there, done that earlier today and I didn’t have to go across the globe.” And then I thought, “But am I better for it?”
Immediately in my mind I heard a resounding, “Yes!” and of course, a chuckling God too. I had been to the summit and successfully reached the other side – anxiety and all. Some lessons come to you, instead you going to the mountain.
