Melanie Writes

I developed a fear of flying after a domestic flight in my early twenties. To this day, I’m not sure if it was the flight itself that created this fear, or an overwhelming fear of dying forty thousand feet in the air. I was paralyzed. Nothing I told myself could convince me that flying was worth it. I missed visiting friends, I missed travel opportunities, and I missed my twin sisters graduation from law school. 

I just decided that I didn’t really need to fly places. I drove to California when I moved there, I drove to Florida for vacations. I drove to Texas to see a football game and turned what should have been a 3 day trip into an 11 day trip. I did all of this because of fear. And then my uncle died, and fear no longer seemed like a good excuse for anything. He didn’t travel much, but on that day, I got this courage and undeniable urge to live my life to fullest, no matter how hard my fears tried to hold me back.

That year, in April of 2018, I left the country for the first time on the shortest overseas trip I could find, Bermuda. It was a 2 hour flight. I reasoned with myself by listing numerous things that would take longer than the flight: a football game, a really good movie, the drive into Manhattan during rush hour traffic. So, I boarded the plane, my nerves on high alert as I clenched my uncles dog tags that I now wore around my neck whenever I would fly.

Bermuda was fantastic, the perfect paradise for country #1. My sister, Danielle, a mutual friend, and I spent most of our short time there on beautiful beaches, including the infamous pink sand beaches at Horseshoe Bay. One night, we laid on the beach with some new friends we met at the hotel, and the sun set in front of us leaving pink streaks in the sky. I fell in love with the sun setting that day. Something about people across the world getting to experience it together was calming for me, whether it be from our backyards or from ten thousand miles away from where we call home.

Six months later, a good friend of mine was getting married in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. I considered saying no. I did the math and the flight was almost twice as long as my flight had been to Bermuda, and my anxiety may not allow me to enjoy any of this. So, I did the most logical thing I could think of at the time – I took 3 separate flights south to eventually end up at that wedding. We made pit stops in Atlanta and Miami spending 2 days in each before finally taking the last leg of the flight to country #2, Jamaica. And once there, I had no choice but to fly home. Fear was not winning the war.

Danielle and I spent most of the trip enjoying the beach at the resort. Outside of the resort, we tried authentic beef patties, which are a prize in comparison to anything you can get in America. We ventured off one day to explore the Dunn’s River Waterfalls. We climbed most of it on our own, opting out of the tour they can provide to you. I got to see my friend get married. And then I trekked back home feeling immense joys of accomplishments.

Once my feet hit the floor back home in New York, I knew I conquered fear. I wasn’t fearless, but I didn’t let it stop me from enjoying my life. I took control. And then all of sudden, I became addicted, and I started to feel like I could travel anywhere in the world I wanted, and so, I did…. (To be continued)