Learning to Fly

We battled it out for 17 hours at a teardrop-shaped table in a dimly lit conference room in Eagan. The three day seminar was called “Wings,” the hosts were employees of Northwest Airlines, the goal was to help students overcome their fear of flying. They came from all over—Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, and a few coastal states. Every one of the 10 participants had flown before, and some flew all the time. One woman had even boarded a plane in Tacoma, Washington, to come to the class. Yet each of the six women and four men (standard for this bimonthly class, whose female-to-male ratio is usually about 60:40, facilitator and retired captain Tom Roberts informed me) experiences panic attacks, stress, and anxiety prior to air travel and often throughout the flight.

This is not an uncommon fear, according to resident psychologist Ruth Markowitz. At the Friday evening meet-and-greet, Markowitz said that 1 in 6 people feels anxious when flying. These are bright, creative people who let their imaginations get the better of them and thus spend their time at 35,000 feet expecting the worst, hands clenched to the armrests instead of cocking their heads into the aisle hoping to get a glimpse of the meal cart.

Of course, it’s an irrational fear, since flying is—statistically speaking—safer than driving, dancing outside in a thunderstorm, and eating fast food. Yet on Saturday afternoon, after Roberts’ two hour presentation detailing the meticulous safety measures, flight techniques, and crew training airlines use to ensure the utmost quality, and after inspecting both the cockpit and the exterior of a DC-9 grounded in the airline’s hangar, the class was still collectively showing the tight face of stress. Even my usually composed mind was beginning to wonder if, ridiculous as it seems, these people know something I don’t.

By the time Sunday morning arrived, the class had been through hours of deep breathing, visualization, and the safety briefing. We’d sat on an airplane and in a flight simulator. It was now time to face the fear.

Our flight to Chicago’s O’Hare airport left at 9 a.m. One man, a quiet Iowan who hadn’t flown in 15 years and was hoping to take his wife on the honeymoon she’d never had, called it quits before the security check. He promised to return in September and take advantage of the second-time free policy (a nice option on a $495 tuition). We met the captain at the gate and pre-boarded. Normally, of course, pre-boarding is for those challenged by infirmity or infant, but in our case it was to get everyone on the plane with plenty of time to get comfortable. Ours was a regularly scheduled flight, but it was empty—a 110-passenger DC-9 with 45 seats booked. Half the seats were reserved for the class. No general announcements were made, so the dignity of the students was spared in case there were any jaded, professional travelers present on the flight. While Markowitz calmed one man, an airline mechanic who begged to disembark, Roberts talked the tense but outwardly calm group through the pre-flight noises and offered reassurances and kind words. Seated a row ahead, smiling what I hoped was a compassionate smile, I couldn’t help thinking about that absolutely miniscule, not-gonna-happen risk and the horrible ironic potential of this flight. Fifty minutes and one beverage service later, when NWA Flight 126 touched down smoothly and safely and nine fearful flyers celebrated, I too was relieved.

In the terminal, the flyers checked in with each other. Not everyone thought it had gone as well as they hoped, but everyone had successfully utilized some or all of the half-dozen techniques Markowitz had recommended for a more relaxed experience. The flight back to the Twin Cities, with the same plane and its familiar noises, was relatively uneventful. Victory, in this case a broad and sweeping term, was declared.