Resfeber

Many lives have been changed with a plane ticket.

Most of us find ourselves spending hours scanning various sites, trying to find the best deals, celebrating when we do, and cursing ourselves for not booking sooner when we lose them again. Some of us look for years, checking now and again, telling ourselves that one day it won’t just be looking.

When that time comes there is that inevitable moment when we are hovering over our device, ready to click the button that will begin the process of taking us away. Sometimes we are excited, other times resigned, but always on our way to something new, somewhere beautifully, magically, not here.

With a click of a button, there is no going back. The emotions come flooding in— there is the thrill of going to a new place, the relief of running to or from something, or even the thoughts such as “Oh God, what have I done?! I hate flying!”. (This last one is me.)

Airports are strange and inspiring places. They have undoubtedly seen many more broken hearts and reunited smiles than most of us could imagine. They are so unshakably human, most often complete with rude TSA agents, overpriced soggy sandwiches, and not enough charger ports to accommodate the milling crowds. Despite these things, airports are magical; the last frontier before your life changes, the last place you see before you defy all the laws of gravity and humanity and become airborne.

I will admit it, I hate flying. I hate being crammed into a flying tin can— the mechanics of which I simply cannot understand— with hundreds of strangers, being flown through the skies by someone I’ve never met, with little to no hope of escape if things go terribly wrong.

There is almost nothing I hate as much as getting onto an airplane, but none of that matters when we land. None of the sleepless hours, leg cramps, panic attacks, and turbulent minutes mean a thing the moment I catch sight of some new shore spread out before me and I realize that I made it, that I am living my dreams.

I think that everyone, no matter what their dreams are, have the same feelings that I do when the plane is filling with people and I hear the hatch door close. We all experience that same lurching in our gut when the turbulence hits and we are convinced that we are not going to make it. The thing is, if I didn’t get on the plane, I would always be stuck where I am. I wouldn’t grow, I wouldn’t experience new things, and ultimately I wouldn’t be happy.

Yes, I would be elated to get off of the plane, and I would be much more comfortable driving home in my car with four wheels on the ground. But when I got home to the life that just couldn’t fill me, I wouldn’t be happy. I would still be empty. And more than that I would know that I allowed fear and my desire for comfort to steal something very precious from me. And I would have to ask myself, “Was it worth it?”

For me, the answer is always no. As many times as I complain about the flight as the fated hour nears, and as many nightmares and panic attacks as I have in the days leading up to boarding, I have never let them stop me from getting on that plane.

If I can pass along one piece of advice, let it be this:

Don’t let fear and comfort stop you from doing what it is that will fulfill you.

I can’t say that all your dreams will come true and everything will work out just as you expect it to— if it did I would already be a best-selling author living in a villa of my own on the Italian seaside— but it’s a start. You owe yourself that.

I can’t exactly say that I’m a success story—so honestly,who am I to be handing out this advice?—but what I can say is that I am writing this from a beautiful B&B in Italy, with a view of the sea and a mug of tea. So this might not be a best-selling novel, and I might not own the B&B, but I’m here, and I’m happy.

As little as I am certain of at this point in my life, I am sure of this: I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten on the plane.

To those reading, I hope that something in this spoke to you, and I hope you get on the plane.

Love, Ari

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