Taking the First Steps in Learning How to Cope With Fear of Flying

A friend of mine recently admitted to something that I had never suspected about him. He is afraid of flying.

He made his statement, almost in a challenging voice, when I twitted him about not having taken a decent vacation in several years. I assumed that he would argue that he was too busy or that he couldn’t afford it or that he had no interest in distant places.

But I know that the demands of his company don’t prevent him from taking time off. I know he makes a better-than-average living, and I feel certain that he has the kind of mind that is, indeed, attracted to different cultures and life styles.

So I wouldn’t necessarily have believed any of those excuses, even if I might have been forced to accept them.

Afraid to Fly

But his words floored me. I would never have taken him for a sufferer. Even though it’s true of me.

Yes, I, who fly upward of 100,000 miles in an average year, am afraid of flying. There, I’ve said it, and I feel better already.

Millions of Americans suffer from the same malady that afflicts my friend and me--cold sweats, the moments of panic, the waves of claustrophobia that sweep over me on most of my flights.

My friend was astonished when I ‘fessed up that I shared his dread. How, he wondered, could I get on an airplane feeling the way I did?

I have no medical/psychiatric training that equips me to offer advice and counsel on the subject. But I can offer encouragement. I know what works for me.

First of all, I believe that at least part of the problem is ignorance. Most people just don’t know enough about airplanes and their operation.

Dealing With the Disease

When the disease first crept up on me a few years ago (actually, it didn’t creep up, it hit me like a sledgehammer) I set out to rectify that shortcoming on my part.

I talked to pilot friends, I read technical pamphlets and reference works. Gradually I developed some kind of understanding of the theory of aerodynamics, how the shape and angle of the wings combined with speed to create a vacuum and, consequently, “lift.”

Some experts reading this may cringe at my nonchalant condensation of the theory into a couple of sentences. It’s as much as I need.

Knowing what makes an airplane fly somehow makes it easier to go along with the act.

Another thing that many people, mindful of all of the gory headlines every time there is an air disaster, don’t seem to realize: just how safe flying really is. According to the Federal Aviation Administration, commercial planes logged 135 million hours in the air in the quarter century starting in 1960, with only 138 accidents involving fatalities.

Put another way, that breaks down to almost 10 million flying hours, more than 29 years, between fatal accidents. Or consider this: the accident rate in 1985 was .03 for every 100,000 flying hours.

A Case for Flying

Statistically, there’s no doubt that you can make a case for flying. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again . . . it’s the freeways that are the real killers in our transportation system.

Knowing all of that helps, but it isn’t the complete answer.

Now you’re on board, and you have to keep your mind off the fact that you’re about to be airborne. But how?

Again, I can only tell you what works for me. First of all, whenever possible, travel with a companion. Having somebody to talk to is a tremendous comfort. It doesn’t matter how substantive the conversation is. The lighter the better.

Discussing the world hunger problem, or AIDS, isn’t designed to put you in a relaxed frame of mind.

And I read. Not heavy stuff. I don’t want to have to fight with my reading material. “War and Peace” isn’t going to do it.

Read whatever you find easiest and most enjoyable. I’m a Charles Dickens fan. And Shakespeare. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read “Oliver Twist” and “The Merchant of Venice” at 35,000 feet.

Easily Absorbed

For you, it may be a Ludlum novel. Or the life story of Benjamin Disraeli. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it’s something you can become absorbed in easily.

I always try for an aisle seat. The feeling of space this seat tends to give helps stave off the pangs of claustrophobia. That, of course, requires that you get to the airport somewhat earlier than you might otherwise, to avoid having someone else get all the aisle seats.

If you should start to feel “funny,” take deep breaths and--don’t laugh--think happy thoughts. Sounds Pollyanna-ish? Maybe. But it beats giving in to the feeling of panic.

Nobody knows how many “white-knuckle” flyers there are in this country. There may be tens of millions out there who either, like my friend, simply refuse to fly, or who, like me, have to fly but don’t always enjoy it.

It may help to know that you’re not alone.

Talk It Over

It may also help to talk about it. You don’t need to see a psychiatrist, although I suppose to the extent that it is a mental problem, that couldn’t hurt. What you may want to do, though, at least as a first step, is talk to a friend or relative.

Maybe you could get one of them to escort you on a short flight, just to try out my theories.

Believe me, there is a big, wonderful world out there for those who care to explore it. What a pity that so many people, like my friend, never do explore it because they have failed to overcome their fear of flying.

Or worse still . . . because they haven’t even tried.