Fear of Flying

I’m afraid of flying. Not because I think the plane will crash on take-off or landing, blow-up in mid-air or be hijacked (God forbid), but because of how it so starkly portrays death. I’m heading from Point A to Point B. Things there are different. The climate, the currency and even the language is not exactly the same. The inhabitants there have (very) different values from the ones here.

I know it might sound corny, but even some of the details bring me some death awareness. When I pack, I try to figure out what I need to take and not take anything that’s worthless or can be left behind. I have to make sure that I have my passport and ticket with me so I can get on the flight and through passport control upon arrival. My fellow travelers and I share a common destination, but have different final destinations.

So, all of this brings to mind my upcoming death. (I’m not expecting to be deleted in the near future, mind you, but, hey—you never know.) It should motivate me, but it actually makes me nauseous. But once I get on that plane, I feel better. I think it’s the already “being on the road” commitment, the settled state: done is done.

So, I try, when I can, to remind myself that I’m already “on board” and “on the road.” I’ll get to my final destination, prepared and able to enjoy it (see Likutey Moharan I, Lesson #191).