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Photo by Eva Darron on Unsplash

I like flying. I would go as far as to say that I love to fly.

Sure, before my flight I get a little bit nervous. I mean, there is this huge metal tube with wings and it floats up in the sky. Um, actually, it’s a huge metal tube that goes really, really, really fast, really, really, really high. The things that can go wrong are staggering. And yet, and yet…

Everyone knows that it’s much safer to fly than it is to drive. That’s indisputable. And it’s also much faster — that’s just another fact I’m dropping here. Whatever nerves or anxiety I have about flying dissipate when I get into the airport. I watch people go about their business, and do this well. I see mechanics and air stewards, pilots and baggage handlers, people checking IDs and security personnel. These trained professionals do their jobs competently, made better by habit and repetition — familiar routines — familiar to them, that is.

And I love to travel by plane to faraway places. To paraphrase Ashleigh Brilliant, I wish I had two lives — one to stay at home, and one to travel. Travel enlarges life, makes you experience new cultures, new traditions, new foods, and new peoples — you are always a different person when you come back. And let’s face it — flying will get you everywhere faster. Until we perfect the teleporter.

Written by

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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