Planes are terrifying

Probably not in the way that you think.

I want to preface this blog first by saying I am extremely grateful to have the opportunity to study abroad in London. I also want to say that traveling sucks. I’m talking about traveling reminiscent of the movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles- great to watch, not great to live it. I used to tell people that my goals in life included traveling, but after 20 short years of living and what felt like 20 long years of planes, trains, and automobiles I realize my goals in life include reaching my destination.

Again, I appreciate every opportunity to help me reach my destinations - but traveling is not fun.

Taking pride in being kind and providing comfort to those around me is important - karma deposits are real. I consider myself to be a friendly and sociable person, but my limits can be stretched and I have to run on low power mode (like my phone 90% of the time). Getting stuck in the Dominican Republic, getting alerted to five-hour flight delays as soon as you’re already in the Uber to the airport, and a child kicking your seat for three hours straight are all situations that don't compare with sitting on a plane next to someone who wants to get to know you.

Many socially anxious individuals can attest to the fact that a seven-hour red-eye flight is not the time to make friends.

I met my now friendly acquaintance - I will call Henry - on the plane ride to London just four days ago. He introduced himself as a fellow BU student studying acting (this means he can make conversation with anyone), chatted me up about my New Year and holiday break, and asked about my plans in Europe. Overall, it was a pleasant introduction which I believed granted me a pat on the back from myself.

“Wouldn't it be nice if nobody sat in the middle seat,” he said.

I nodded my agreement, relieved he felt the same way about enclosed spaces with strangers.

But of course, a young Norwegian man came along. He saw us speaking with one another and asked if we were together, implying he would trade his middle seat for the aisle or window.

“No,” I said.

“Actually yes,” said Henry simultaneously.

I liked Henry and I enjoyed speaking with him, but after two hours in the car to JFK airport and another three hours getting through security and checking bags, I was terrified. I was terrified my ability to be social would suddenly die out, and I was honestly scared someone would ever choose to sit in between two strangers for seven hours.

We chatted for a while longer and waited for the plane to move and I began to relax again. This wasn’t as stressful as I thought. Henry is an actor, and subsequently a professional at handling social situations. To him, this interaction was another performance. To me, the box enclosing me shrunk twice as small.

My terror resurfaced as Henry discussed his tradition to hold hands with strangers as the plane takes off like he used to with his mom. A sweet sentiment, but my hands are clammy and I have a noticeable tremor in my hand. I could either hold his hand, joke about how the tradition should end with my clammy hands, or disappoint a random stranger on an airplane. All three sounded horrific to me.

The engine began screaming as I did internally. Henry made the decision for me and reached out his hand to grasp mine. We held hands for two minutes as the plane took off.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No, thank you,” I said jokingly.

I closed my eyes. Henry asked what I’d do if he woke me up. I pretended to laugh and told him he’d feel bad because I’d probably start crying even though I already almost was. I said bye to my parents and bye to my boyfriend that same day and I happen to be an undercover crybaby.

After a few jokes about a port city called Brest, the flight attendants' British accents, and feeling like opening my eyes invited conversation at 3 AM, I began to appreciate Henry as 5 AM approached. We found our bags together, I met his other friends (he has many), we almost figured out the Piccadilly tube line, and he even bought me a coffee when my card undoubtedly went missing (as it does at least four times a year).

Sitting next to Henry was a great source of exposure therapy to having no exit. Ending a phone call is difficult, but at least it’s an option - and I had none. Henry didn't mind my clammy hands or notice the mild panic I get every time I leave my family. He gave me something else to focus on, and for that, I am grateful for John Candy - I mean Henry.

I don’t think Henry will ever see this, but if he does, I want him to know that he has social superpowers. I also want to thank him for my first blog post idea.