I have always been interested in airplanes. It’s come from living in Ambridge, Pennsylvania during my early childhood (and returning back frequently - that’s where my Nana lives and she’s the most important family member in my life). It’s roughly 30 minutes away from Pittsburgh, depending on how fast you drive and the traffic in the area. However, the Pittsburgh Airport is fifteen minutes away, so you know we always had planes flying overhead at all hours.
While my fascination with planes never faltered, my reserve to being on one did. It came from several news reports of plane crashes, even one in neighboring Aliquippa (look up USAir Flight 427 - I’m not lying). It faltered even more with the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Flight 93 went down 15 miles from my then home in Johnstown, which is where I still reside today for my post-secondary education.
I never wanted to fly in a plane. I was terrified, as most were, because of everything that had happened. Everything I had was here in the States. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d get an opportunity to go to Europe.
It was with a educational group called People to People International, which is still in business today. I was invited to go based on my academic standing in middle school. As exciting as it was, it was still a huge decision for my parents and me. My mother was against it. I’d be half a world away from her. My father said it would be a wasted opportunity. The final say-so, though, came down to me. Would I fly? Wouldn’t I fly? Would I stay or would I go?
I decided, after thinking it through, that I wanted to go. I did. We were going to six different countries in the time span of three weeks. What other 12-year-old had that opportunity? I decided to do it, and after months of preparation meetings, the day finally came.
I passed security at Pittsburgh International Airport without incident, got to my gate perfectly. It was in that enormous whale-like aircraft taxied to our gate that the butterflies took off in my stomach.
Now, I had been to the airport a couple times before 9/11, back when you could get to the gates without needed a boarding pass or anything. I was never in that makeshift hallway to get to the aircraft, never actually in an aircraft or a simulation of any sort. This was all new, and I won’t lie, it was mildly terrifying.
The flight from Pittsburgh to Atlanta wasn’t bad at all. It was really routine. There wasn’t any turbulence or things of that nature. I was never off the ground before, and it was awesome. The puffs of clouds looked like marshmallows, and I could see several cities below our flight path. It was truly an incredible sight.
The problematic flight was the flight from Atlanta to London/Gatwick. We were supposed to take off at 9:40 p.m., but didn’t actually take off until 10:40 p.m. because of luggage issues. Not only that, but we were crossing an ocean. That was much more daunting than over land.
When we finally took off, it was a flight of a different breed altogether. We were past the mile-high mark. I couldn’t see anything except the occasional light of another aircraft miles away. I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous. What if the plane crashed while I was sleeping? What would happen when I woke up? The sun began to rise, higher and higher. For the first time, I could see it in it’s entirety. There was nothing obstructing the view.
Finally, at 10:30 a.m. London time, we started landing. On the other flight, I had chewing gum to help ease the cabin pressure in my ears and it helped me from getting sick. This flight? Not so much. I chewed all of it, and I had nothing left. I got off the plane and stayed in a crouched position on the bus that taxied us from the plane to the actual airport. Other than that, I was fine.
The trip was perfect. I got to see things, hear things, and eat things I never would’ve gotten to if I didn’t take that initial risk of flying. Now, I’m gearing up for another big risk: moving all the way across the country in order to make a living for myself. How am I going to get home during holidays? Flying, of course!
The point is, never be afraid to take risks. There are some, yes, where you need to use your common sense and realize it may be a reckless opportunity for you. Certain things aren’t for everyone. I didn’t think flying was for me, and I grew as a person because I flew and because I took the risk of experiencing new things. Follow your head and your heart. If both are in agreement, you can’t go wrong!
No comments:
Post a Comment