(Update on the morning of the flight: thanks to everyone’s prayers, the anxiety I had when I wrote the following post two days ago is gone!)
Day after tomorrow, on Friday, July 12, I am going to the airport in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I will catch a Southwest Airlines flight to Hartford, Connecticut, with a stop over and plane change in Denver.
I’m going to be gone a little over three days, returning late Monday. I’m looking forward to my granddaughter’s wedding, and I am super excited about seeing so many family members, some of whom I haven’t seen in years. I really am looking forward to this. However, I really, really don’t like to fly! Especially not all by myself. My husband surprised me with the tickets back in March, but he only bought one round trip ticket. After jumping out of planes over Vietnam at 30,000 feet, he does not fly now, for any reason.
Hmmm … I just googled “is it safer to fly than drive” and found a lot of alarming statistics that make me never want to drive or ride in a car again, lol. I already knew that flying is considered much safer than driving, statistically speaking. But it seems so unnatural to me, to be so high above the earth.
I just googled “how high do commercial airlines fly.” The answer: between 36,000-40,000 feet, with a maximum of 45,000 feet. Eek!!! I need to stop googling.
I keep reminding myself to breathe. God is with me and I can do this. Breathe… (EEK)
Anyway, I know that flying is a lot safer than riding on the back of my husband’s motorcycle, which I used to do until the last bike crash in 2014 put a stop to that.
I took the picture of my hubby and me on his Goldwing bike in December 2004, using a tripod and timer. The Sandia Mountains are in the background. I took the picture at the top of this post about five years ago in a small New Mexico town near an Air Force bombing range. There was a lot of flying going on that day. And, nobody crashed!
Thank you for stopping by. Here’s a big grandmotherly ((HUG)) if you need one. God bless!