I sit on a plane for the first time in 17 years. I last flew to my brother’s second wedding on Sea Island, GA. We lived in Arlington, VA at the time where I served a large church as their Associate Rector for Youth and Young Adults. Within a year, my boss added “Families with Young Children” and “Seniors” to my job description. My husband worked for the now-defunct educational program at Washington National Cathedral, giving tours to school groups during which he pointed out details fascinating to students, like the moon rock in the middle of the space window or where Darth Vader sits among the other grotesques on the outside of the building.

My brother and his fiancé honored me by their request to perform their ceremony. A small group of family members gathered on the barrier island and stood on the beach to celebrate their love. After the brief service, we dined at one of the resort restaurants, during which my new step-nephew became so exasperated by our toasting the new couple that he shouted, “Stop cheers-ing!”  

Bad weather marred our flight down, resulting in a cancellation, a three hour wait in a failed TSA line due to a new hire in training, and a rerouting. We arrived the day after we intended but in time for me to don my collar and lead my brother and his new bride through their promises to “honor and cherish.” I don’t remember the flight back, not knowing then that it would be my last one for nearly two decades.

As a child I loved to fly, feeling the boost of the engine as it rocketed us into the atmosphere, slicing through the air then the clouds. The clouds that on a normal day I would look up to, searching for dragons or hearts, butterflies or crocodiles passed below me – their fluffy backsides looking like the most wonderful snuggle spot for a nap.

My travels have taken me through nearly 30 countries and countless flights, but in 1999 the taste for flying soured in my mouth. My mother and I visited India, requiring a flight to Singapore from Amsterdam lasting almost 12 hours and the return flight nearly 14. Boarding the plane posed no challenge, but as we sat on the plane hour after hour my anxiety and discomfort began to build. The warm washcloths and friendly crew could not keep a curtain over the truth that we stayed in the air an incredibly long time. 

When we boarded the return flight, I panicked. I remember saying to my mom that if I could find a way to travel on the ground from Singapore to Amsterdam I would do it, no matter the time or distance. A prickling sensation crept from my toes up my legs as my reptilian brain took hold, causing a cold sweat to break out on the soles of my feet and across my brow. Just thinking about it now quickens my heart rate and shallows my breathing.

The memory pushes its way to the front of my mind as I fly through the sky on my way from Atlanta to Hartford, CT, nearly 20 years after boarding my last flight.

For several years my mother has wanted to bring me to the Yale Summer Writers’ Workshop with her. She attended twice before and generously offered to pay so I might join her this year to further develop my skills. Besides, many years have passed since we traveled just the two of us. We made our first international journey as a pair when I was twelve. We flew to England then traveled to Scotland to ride horses together through the Scottish Highlands. The experience inspired me to commit then to my future children to take them on such trips to see the world.

I have not.

We have crossed the United States twice, and they have seen more of their country than most children their age. It would be false for me to recommend they have been confined or sheltered, but we have never flown as a family. Granted, paying for five airfares provides a legitimate barrier, but that excuse also has covered my fear.

This Christmas when my mother offered again to give me a week in Connecticut, I said yes. Even as I accepted, my feet began to sweat and my heart quickened. What if I panicked again? What if ants crawled under my skin as I sat in my seat waiting for take off? What if halfway to Connecticut, the breath left my lungs and I wanted to scream? My fear long ago ceased to be about flying but about panicking. I don’t mind heights nor enclosed spaces (for too long) but I don’t want to experience that feeling again, or ever being entirely irrational and out of control of my senses.

Over Memorial Day weekend, we packed a picnic and drove down to the creek on the farm to play in the chilly waters. My kids skipped rocks with my parents before we toured the farm, hiking to some favorite sites. We paused at a property boundary to check a marker when my mom spotted a beautiful shimmering black coil near the fence. A black snake happily sunned itself, ignoring our advances for a closer look.

“Granddaddy! Can you catch it?” my middle piped up. 

“Sure,” my dad replied as he stepped slowly to the snake, reaching down and lifting it into the air. 

As his sister stepped forward, my youngest stepped back, “nope!”

We took turns marveling at the creature, its iridescent skin smooth and warm from the sun. The snake stretched out its body before wrapping around the arm of whomever held it. 

“Just come touch its skin.” we said to my youngest, but he shook his head.

“Do you want to hold it?” my dad asked my middle and she nodded her head.

 A smile spread across her face as she felt the long black body wrap around her arm, “It’s so soft and beautiful!”

Big sister’s fearlessness nudged her younger brother to reach his hand forward and touch two fingers to the snake’s skin before pulling them away. That was good enough.

I never want my children to place barriers between them and opportunity. I encourage them to face fears and push past them, to get close to a spider, touch a snake, stand on a tall building, ride an elevator down into the heart of a cave, and more. I want their lives not to be encumbered by fear, but lived freely and fearlessly…while tempered with reasonable caution (I am a mother, afterall). 

In the months since Christmas I have not allowed myself much consideration about our flight to Connecticut. A quick snippet of a thought would spark my anxiety. What if I failed and couldn’t get on the plane? What if my anxiety came back and ruined it, shaming me? I pushed the thoughts away, hoping by ignoring them, they would decide to disappear on their own.

“The only way to get rid of fear is to face it directly. Fear is only the absence of believing. Fear can be changed and healed by looking into its eyes and saying, ‘No. You don’t win. I will show you I can.”

My friend wrote me these words and similar ones over the last month, preparing me to fly. She is wise and ever-encouraging and has braved her way through dangers and challenges.  Mine seem so pitiful compared to those she has tamed over the years, showing me if she could stare her fears down, so could I. 

I boarded the plane today, plugged in my earphones, and turned on Despicable Me, an inane and humorous movie that reminds me of my kids. I opened a puzzle book and worked on some crosswords as well as a few Sudokus. I heard the captain and the crew give spiels that have changed little in the 19 years since I last heard them. Then the plane taxied and picked up speed. I pushed myself to open the blind and look out the window as we gained altitude. I closed it again and returned to my distractions.

At cruising altitude I pulled out my computer and began writing this essay. Even as I write I look out the window in snippets, staring at the beautiful clouds but also at my fear and let it know that it cannot stop me.

it hasn’t disappeared. It sits beside me as I type. But so are my children. 

My friend’s voice rings in my ears, “The only way to get rid of fear is to face it directly.”

I am here not because I am fearless or brave. I am here because I want my children to be bold and tackle the world. That means I need to be not the person I am right now but the person I want them to be as they continue to grow into who they are meant to become. I hate their fears and want them gone, so I must want the same for myself. How can I love them into being all that they are if I do not first do the same for me?