The first time I could remember being on a plane, I mean really remember being on a plane was going to see my friend in Florida. Perhaps it’s the fact that I was on a plane by myself that sticks out. Well next to me was a little boy, couldn’t be more than 5 or 6. He was with his grandma and she fell asleep. Long story short the little boy never flew on a plane before. He wanted to hold my hand, and truth be told I wanted to hold his. I was petrified but we decided we would open the window half way and watch outside. We would face our fear to fly— together.
As a result, even though I am not a fan of heights, I love to fly now. I can actually look out the window and every time before take off, right after I silently pray, I take a moment to think of that little boy. One fear conquered, a couple more to go.