I used to be afraid of flying. I flew twice when I was about 4 years old and a suitcase fell out of the overhead compartment and caused my nose to bleed all over my brand new pink dress. And I didn’t dare get on a plane until 14 years later when I flew solo for the first time.
I remember my first solo flight well. I was flying to the Bay area to visit a friend at UC Berkeley. I wore angel wings on board because I figured if I were to die I could get to heaven faster. Of course, during that flight I experienced the worst turbulence I have ever encountered and that solidified my fear and yet at the same time cultivated my desire to explore places I had never been to before. Thus a wanderlust was born.
These days, I travel like a pro. I barely blink at the roughest turbulence and can fall asleep before leaving the runway. On average I board about a dozen planes or more a year. But, the excitement and anticipation of new adventures has never found comfort. It has only grown with each travels and I still get giddy staring out into the horizon and imagining what awaits when I touch down.