I Don’t Hate Flying

THE WOODLANDS, Texas -- It seems to me that nearly everyone I talk to these days hates flying, and it is easy to understand why. Lines are long, security is a hassle, and there’s a whole lot of walking, waiting, and rushing about.

With reminders that terrorism is a constant threat, such as the attempted terrorist attack on a Northwest Airlines flight on Christmas Day, airports are only likely to double up on security.

Assuming you make it to your flight on time, you still have to wait for takeoff, and then endure the hours of flight. God forbid there’s a 600-pound man to your left who invades what precious space you have.

Okay, so that sounds pretty bad. But despite it all, I love to fly. I’ve been doing it since I was five, and it is always an adventure. I don’t need much, so I pack light, check in at an automatic kiosk, waltz past the other travelers checking bags, and head on straight to security.

I flash my I.D to the guard and head towards the security checkpoint with a cool smile that says “Yea, I’ve done this before.”

In a flash my shoes, belt, phone, and jacket are in a bin and being x-rayed. I laugh for a moment at the fool in front of me who beeps through the metal detector and submits himself to a full body search, and then walk through like a pro.

With my personal items back in my possession and me on the other side, half the journey is behind me. I’ve flown many times now, but even today I find the process exciting. The scurry of people, each with their own destinations, and each with their own stories and lives, it is invigorating.

I like to sit back and watch for a moment. A woman runs by, tripping over her heels as she tugs along two children, scrambling to make her flight. “Excuse the cart!” shouts an airport cart driver as he ferries people from gate to gate. A woman’s recorded voice sounds over the loudspeaker, warning passengers not to take bags from “strangers, or people you do not know,” just in case you weren’t sure what a stranger was. Everything is bustling, everything is alive.

Then there’s the flight itself, which has always been the most exciting part for me. Not because of the thrill of takeoff or how fast a mode of transportation flying is. Not because I am pumped to get my bag of pretzels, peanuts, or if I am lucky; a half sandwich. No, it is because I never know who I am going to sit next to.

I can think of almost no other time when it is common place to turn to the person next to you, (a person you likely have never met) introduce yourself, exchange life stories, and then go your separate ways. It’s both wonderful and bizarre.

So maybe I am the oddball out, but no, I don’t hate flying. It’s become a part of life for many Americans, and indeed, a part of our culture.