A cursory glance at this site would suggest that I love flying. Indeed it can be the most joyous of experiences, cruising serenely high above the Earth.
But that’s not what I’m feeling right now.
A few weeks ago I was watching the planes overhead and dreaming of adventures upon them. After all, the skies were clear and my last couple of flights had been positive experiences.
However, as our departure time rapidly approaches the pit in my stomach has opened again. A blackness which turns the mere mention of flight on television or radio into a source of anguish.
It sours the dream, spoiling the excitement of heading out on another adventure, makes me want to curl up in bed and forget the world outside exists.
It’s not healthy. An irrational feeling, one that goes against logic and experience yet persists.
I know what it is, I know some techniques for dealing with it, but I miss the old days when I hardly cared.