By Alan Mattli
A lot of people will tell you that they are “not good fliers”, by which they mean: “I feel the same kind of reservation as everyone else when entering an airplane, which is perfectly natural, given that I am entrusting my life to a steel monstrosity that shouldn’t be able to fly. However, unlike most others, I don’t keep these feelings to myself”.
As for me, I’m not really sure whether I identify as such a person. Do I worry about flying? Of course I do. But since I essentially view life as one long chain of things trying to kill you until one of them finally succeeds, I feel it would be presumptuous to align myself with otherwise perfectly rational human beings who just lose their marbles twice a year when their respective families force them to fly to Ibiza. Suffice to say that, for all intents and purposes, I don’t hate flying. On a good day, I even find – much to my own surprise – that I am able to enjoy it.