By Hila Davies and illustrated by Sasha Varpahovsky
I am a notoriously anxious flyer. I begin packing at least a week before, will pick my plane meal in advance, and always have emergency ‘anxiety crackers’ on hand. So to me, there is no greater feeling than the blissful euphoria of finally getting in the air.
All around you, a hundred odd people are experiencing the exact same sensations as you. People from all different walks of life – a woman on a business trip, a man on his way to surprise his long distance fiance, a baby on its first flight, eyes wide open (probably also screaming), about to witness new lands and new smells for the first time. A student, travelling across the world, plummeting away from everything they know, about to enter a whole new life. Personhood and responsibility are erased, identities become based on seat number and whether you chose “the chicken or the fish”. We enter a state of liminality with a group of strangers we will probably never see again. We breathe the same air, we see each other in our embarrassing plane clothes, and wash our hands in the same sink. I think there is something intrinsically beautiful about a group of people, together, on the brink of a new experience. Sure, seeing a stranger’s bare feet (you know who you are, Seat 51K…) is never pleasant, but it’s kind of a nosy person’s dream.
Don’t get me wrong, the actual take-off bit is objectively awful. Stomach dropping, head racing, that weird feeling when the wheels first leave the ground – a feeling I’m convinced the human body was not meant to feel. It’s familiar, but not. Uncomfortable, but in some ways I think it’s one of the only times our brains can fully relax. Strapped to an aeroplane chair, we are forced to give up all agency, hand-held while racing through the air at impossible speeds.
Control is not an easy thing to give up. Living in London, I find it extremely difficult to put my brain into, excuse the pun, auto-pilot mode. The bustle of the city conditions you to be constantly aware, constantly thinking, constantly on stand-by. But, strapped to a plane seat, the Big Smoke brain finally gets a chance to have a nap. Maybe this is a reach, but sometimes I think being on a plane is the closest we can get to recreating what being in the womb must have felt like. Ok, it’s no perfect dupe, but let’s break it down: all your nutrients are brought to you, there’s pretty much nothing else to do other than sleep, and if your ‘vessel’ breaks down, you’re basically screwed.
Beyond the chaos and anxiety, strangely, I think that moment of take-off is where I finally feel an inner peace. The rubber band snaps, the tension releases, and that feeling of letting go is like a balm for the soul. For the next however many hours, I get to exist separate from time and space, and suddenly, my mind begins to quiet.
So if you’re an anxious flyer like me, I implore you to do two things next time you’re on a plane:
Look out the window. The views are pretty flipping great and it is the perfect time to romanticise your life. Put on a killer movie soundtrack, stare wistfully at the clouds creating a sea beneath you, and wham, bam, thank you Sam – you are the main character.
Be nosy. Listen in to that intense gossip session in the seat behind you. Figure out where the person behind you is travelling to. Pick out accents, create family units in your mind, play Sherlock for the day and it’ll make the time 100x more interesting. We are programmed to create stories – so let yourself be overtaken by a little ‘Once Upon A Time’.
Let go, let your body sink, and enter ‘plane nirvana’. Let yourself transcend space and time for a day. Become liminal. You got this.
