When I bought my plane tickets for Boston, we didn’t know exactly when our bathroom remodel would start. As it turns out, the remodel started a week and a half sooner than I was scheduled to return. That first week of the remodel was very hard on John (and Biska) without me there to run interference during the day while John was away at work. As the week progressed, it grew increasingly impossible for me to run the remodel over video call from Boston.
On Thursday of the first week of the remodel, I called the airline and moved my flight up by a few days, to fly out that Saturday instead of the following Wednesday. The process took nearly an hour on the phone, but the agent was friendly and helpful. He helped me look into all the flight options, and even helped me pick new seats. I would be there when they started the second week of the remodel. Emily was understanding and John was greatly relieved.
The next day, on Friday, the airlines sent me an email titled, “Tropical weather may affect your upcoming travel plans”. A hurricane was approaching the Boston area and was due to peak about the same time my flight was scheduled to take off! The airline sent me multiple emails and text messages, offering to to reschedule my flight to a later date for no extra charge. But I don’t want to reschedule again!
I consulted with the family frequent flier (John) and decided not to reschedule. They weren’t going to take off if the weather didn’t meet their safety criteria. If the plane took off, great, I was on my way. If it didn’t take off due to hurricane weather, then I guess I’d have to reschedule at that point. I would cross that bridge when I got there. I decided to stick with my plans, hurricane or no hurricane.
It occurred to me later that this was an interesting data point on my ongoing attempt to figure out why I hate flying so much. Flying causes me a lot of anxiety. I used to assume that I was afraid to fly. Isn’t that what anxiety is? Fear? And aren’t people who are afraid of flying, afraid because they think the plane is going to crash? Therefore, I must think the plane was going crash, right? Except I didn’t.
I know planes are statistically – and fundamentally – safe. Of course nothing is completely safe. But planes are much safer than driving on the freeway. Over time I’ve become quite sure that a fear of crashing isn’t the problem. I also don’t appear to fear the prospect of turbulence. And I don’t tend to get seasick.
Here I am, dreading the flight as usual, and yet, with the warning of a hurricane approaching, I’m like, “Uh, whatever. We’ll take off or we won’t. It’ll probably be bumpy. I’ll be fine”. I could easily have postponed my flight, free of charge, but no. A flight during a hurricane didn’t seem to phase me any more than a flight without a hurricane. That made no sense.
My cavalier attitude about the impending hurricane completely confirmed my suspicion that I am not afraid that the plane is going to crash. Anyone who is afraid of a plane crashing would not be willing to take off with a hurricane in the forecast! Right? So what is wrong with me? Why do I hate flying so much? I just hate it. I don’t know why!
And by the way, I was totally enjoying my visit! It’s not like I was desperate to get home asap. John was looking forward to me getting home, but I was honestly reluctant to face that remodel. Ugh! Living with a remodel is so stressful. It’s so loud and there’s strangers in and out of the house all day, and yuck, yuck, yuck. But hurricane or not, (and remodel or not), it was time to head home.
How does the old saying go? Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning? We had a beautiful red night sky the evening before my flight.
The next morning there was no sign of a hurricane.
Lol, so here’s me at an airport. First of all, I couldn’t get the kiosk to let me pay for my checked bags. Luckily the airport was practically empty (especially compared to when I arrived midnight, when it was grand central station, thronged, complete traffic jam). At noon on Saturday it’s completely empty! A cheerful clerk came and helped – I didn’t even have to track anyone down.
She got my bags checked in and directed me to security. Off I went. I got to security to discover I didn’t have my driver’s license. I must have left it on the counter at baggage check. So back to baggage check I went. Again, there were more clerks than customers, so my license was quickly discovered sitting abandoned on the counter.
Off I went to security again. I handed my license to the official, and he checked me in. I had just started toward the screening when he called me back. Uh-oh! Now what did I do wrong? Apparently I should have been in the TSA precheck line instead of the regular line. I asked if it mattered, and he said no, except at TSA pre, I don’t need to open my bag and take off my shoes. That sounded better, so I went over there. There were no lines anywhere, so it hardly mattered.
As I went under the scanner, it beeped at me. Yay, I was randomly selected! At that point I figured I would have been better off if I had stayed in the regular line. They told me to walk down and see the officer over there and she would scan me. I looked in the direction they pointed and didn’t see who they meant. I was like, “Who? Where do I go?” That’s me at an airport, continual confusion. Wha? Wha? Where?
Another TSA guy said, “Just head that way but don’t pick up your bags”. That was good advice because as I headed that way, someone waved me over. From a distance “she” had looked like a “he”, and I hadn’t understood who had been meant. I know we really should stop using gender as an identifier, but my old brain is trained to expect she’s to look like she’s.
It turns out all they wanted to scan were my hands, so it didn’t take long. Even though I had confusions checking my bag and getting through security, the airport was so empty I was at the gate plenty early.
The whole experience, even with confusions, was much better than normal. Two things made a huge difference and helped it all work out. First, there were almost no other customers, so the clerks weren’t impatient with me. Also I was trying to stay extra friendly and smiley and cheerful, which always helps a lot. Most people (including me) scowl when they’re confused, and I’m a walking bundle of confusion at an airport. I know the clerks have an awful job and they don’t like to be scowled at. Bottom line, I do fine when no one is grumpy or in a rush, and everyone is patient with my confusion and treats me well.
Sure enough, the flight was fine. It was a little bit turbulent on the ascent, but no worse than the descent into Phoenix. Boston’s hurricane weather turned out to be no worse than a normal summer day in Phoenix.
Then I had a quick little flight to Tucson and home. The leg from Phoenix to Tucson is so short, you’re starting the descent before you’ve hardly finished the ascent. The flight attendants try to provide drink service, probably because it’s their policy for all flights, but it’s hilariously rushed.
I was very happy I had made it out to Boston to see everyone. Here are some baby pictures to remember it all by:
Next time we visit Callista will be a lot bigger! I’m lucky I was able to meet her when she first arrived.
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