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March 04, 2008, 12:40 PM ET
What Scares You, Darling?
I’m afraid of jellyfish, computer errors, blue eye-shadow, teen-aged drivers, big dogs, faulty electrical adaptors, nail-clippers, home permanents, IRS audits, generic substitutes, repeating myself, the shower scene in Psycho, phone calls after midnight, power outages, wiretaps, infidelity, tight shoes, cold showers, and repeating myself.
Fear has kept me very busy. But all my fears dwindle in comparison to my fear of airplanes. I’ve been reassured, been informed, and have had airline safety demonstrated to me on countless occasions. I’ve listened to tapes meant to relax me and read books meant to answer every question. In order to get myself on airplanes, I’ve done breathing classes, desensitization, and self-help programs—in addition to flying with Dr. Smirnoff, a dandy companion for long flights if (but, sad to say, only if) I don’t need to give a talk the same day.
Everybody has shown me why my fears of flying are groundless. Demonstrations of safety offer nothing, I am convinced. Recently I asked a pilot (my panicked voice pitched so high that I was afraid only bats could hear me), if he thought the flight would be free of turbulence. I expected the usual reassurance, but instead this nice young man with the crew cut showed me the print out of the weather map. By way of demonstrating how safe we would be, he explained how we would avoid the worst of the thunderstorms ahead. I hadn’t known there were thunderstorms up ahead, but now that I did I thought of nothing else the entire trip.
People have talked sense to me. When you’re frightened everybody tells you things that make perfect sense.
That’s when you realize it isn’t sense you’re looking for.
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