I don’t like flying

There is something strange about taking a commuter flight. Just as when you are a child you get used to going into a rolling box which takes you somewhere fast, you can get used to a claustrophobic tube with two giant seething jet engines balanced on either side of it slipping through the air like a fat unwieldy arrow. 

For me, air travel is decided unpleasant and full of annoyances, but it is an efficient way of getting from point A to point B. I have to say that it holds no romance or excitement for me, rather the whole experience from airport to flight to airport is just unpleasant.
I have also had many a white knuckle, stomach-churning turbulence experience as the plane hit air pockets, dropping a few hundred feet at a go or a storm where a phantasmagorical light show outside reminded me not only of my mortality but of the bright lights of the afterlife. Storms in flight are all a little too real for me.

Now, I am grateful for the ability to travel through the air and get where I need to go quickly. I also feel for the long-suffering flight staff who have to deal with sick grumpy people all the time and who seem perpetually exhausted. 

It really is amazing how something as unnatural as flying can become a commonplace, though. I sometimes imagine my ancestors who would probably look sceptically at these precarious tubes in the ether and wonder at the fact that humans have taken some aspects of birds and taken flight.

In the end I avoid flying as much as humanly possible because I loathe the experience but I appreciate its efficiency and the kindness of the flight attendants who do their best to make the best of an uncomfortable, unnatural circumstance.

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