Down The Rabbit Hole

I am not a good flyer. Wait, I take that back. I’m not a great flyer. I used to be much worse. I would dread vacations where I had to get on a plane. Every tiny bump of turbulence would send me bursting into tears. I clutched the armrests with white knuckles and hyperventilated my way through perfectly calm, fifty-minute flights from L.A. to San Jose to see my folks.

About five years ago, I was going to Bali with my husband’s family and was having a full blown panic attack while we were still sitting on the runway at LAX. I was sure that if I didn’t get off that plane that I was going to die. I was crying, hyperventilating. I told Hawk I was going to get off the plane and go home and that he could go without me. He tried to calm me down as best he could but I was inconsolable. I was literally about to flag down a flight attendant and tell her to turn the damn plane around when we took off. I wept through takeoff, but as the plane climbed into the sky, I suddenly felt calm. I stopped crying, I picked up a People magazine and started reading about Brad Pitt’s hair or something.

I think what happened is that I knew that I didn’t have control over the situation anymore, so I didn’t fight it. Either I was going to make it to Bali or I wasn’t. Turns out I did, which was great. If I had gotten off that plane, I wouldn’t have had the experiences I did on that trip and seen such a different part of the world. I would have gone back to my apartment, alone, and hated myself for missing out.

Since then I haven’t been quite so bad on planes, although I still hate the turbulence and have been known to let out a big gasp if a bump hits unexpectedly. I don’t dread air travel anymore, but am by no means a fan.

This past Wednesday night my brother and I were flying back from Northern California after Christmas, and it just happened to be the windiest day of the year. Winds gusts around 40 mph. It was the most turbulent flight I have ever been on, rocking side to side, bumping up and down. A lady in the row in front of me had her hands clenched on the top of the seat in front of her, her head bowed, praying.

And I was fine. I wasn’t scared at all. I was perfectly calm. Aside from a little nausea, which subsided when I put my book down, I was fine. If I had been on that flight five years ago, I would have been screaming, weeping, unable to breathe. I didn’t start thinking about it until later when Nate and I were telling Hawk how rocky the flight had been, but I had just known that everything was going to be all right.

Which brings me to 2006. This past year sucked big fat monkey balls. Very few things were good about this past year. Besides months and months of getting stuck with needles, the indignity of repeated vaginal ultrasounds, worrying about my mom’s health, deciding the fate of a man who took the life of another, and losing a baby, I am also having the longest fucking miscarriage in the history of the world (eight weeks and counting, thank you very much). This year I have experienced sadness and stress to degrees that I never thought possible.

The funny thing is, that despite all of that sadness and anger and worry, in coming out the other side of it, I feel more peaceful than I ever have in my life. I just have this sense - that admittedly comes and goes - that everything is going to be all right. I have discovered wells of strength within myself, and within my family and friends, that I didn’t know were there.

I’m beginning to understand what people talk about when they say they have faith. Most talk in terms of faith in whatever god they believe in, but through my experiences in the past year, I have found faith in myself. I got knocked down this year, again and again, and, with the help of the people who love me, every time I picked myself back up, albeit on unsteady legs.

I don’t want to experience sadness and pain like I did this past year ever again. No one wants that. But I know now that I can deal with whatever comes. I can get knocked to the ground, it can hurt like hell, I can scream and cry and curse the universe. But when I’m done, I can let out a shuddering breath and start moving again.

So, thank you, 2006, for teaching me that, above all else, I have myself. And in 2007, I want to take that and turn it into something wonderful.