One little bump and I go from calm and collected to, “This plane is going to crash, and I’m too young to die!”
Yes, I’m that dramatic, sometimes.
I think of all the things that I want to still do with my life, things that I want to accomplish, places I wanted to go; I think of children and enjoying the benefits of becoming an old man who sits on his front porch drinking lemonade and yelling at kids to get off his lawn (face it, you know that is going to be awesome).
Fear will grip me the rest of that flight. I can’t focus on anything – not the weird in-flight movie or awkward conversation I am having with the person next to me. I’m gripping the armrest like it will actually steer the plane for the rest of the flight.
