A single, tragic aviation incident recently hijacked my peace of mind. It wasn’t just another headline—it was a devastating crash minutes after takeoff, claiming dozens of lives in the air and on the ground. I didn’t just read about it. I lived it—every detail, every victim’s story, every grieving family member shared online. I felt their pain like it was mine.
And suddenly, my old companion—flying anxiety—came roaring back, louder than ever.
I’ve always had a mild fear of flying. Nothing extreme—just that familiar knot in the stomach during turbulence, the white-knuckle grip on the armrest when the plane hits an air pocket. But over the past year, it’s grown. Sharper. More persistent. The breaking point? A 14-hour nonstop flight with no incidents—no technical issues, no delays, no rough weather. Just me, trapped in my own head, obsessing over every creak of the cabin.
The flight itself was fine.
But my mind wasn’t.
For days after landing, I couldn’t enjoy where I was because all I could think about was the return journey. That dread seeped into my entire trip, robbing me of joy, focus, and presence. And now, after this recent tragedy, it’s worse. My inbox is flooded with news alerts: planes skidding off runways, mid-air collisions, emergency landings, private jets crashing into fields. Big airlines, small charters—nothing feels safe anymore.
So I started wondering:
Are plane crashes actually becoming more common?
Or is it just that we’re hearing about them more?
Here’s what the data says: commercial aviation is still one of the safest ways to travel. According to the International Air Transport Association (IATA), in 2023 there were only 5 major accidents involving passenger jets worldwide—and just 1 fatal accident. With over 37 million commercial flights that year, that’s an accident rate of less than 0.00001%. Statistically, you’re far more likely to be injured driving to the airport than flying across continents.
But here’s the catch: our brains don’t care about statistics.
Anxiety doesn’t listen to logic. It feeds on images, stories, and worst-case scenarios. And thanks to social media algorithms, every time I search for flight updates or watch a documentary about aviation, my feed floods with crash footage, survivor interviews, and dramatic headlines. The internet remembers my fear—and serves it back to me, amplified.
That’s when I realized: my anxiety wasn’t just about flying.
It was about loss of control.
Sitting in that metal tube, 35,000 feet above the earth, I can’t steer, can’t see the runway, can’t predict the weather. All I can do is surrender. And for someone who likes to plan, to anticipate, to feel prepared—that’s terrifying.
So I stopped fighting the fear. Instead, I sat with it.
I asked myself: What exactly am I afraid of?
Not “crashing.” That’s too vague.
Is it the noise? The turbulence? The idea of not being able to escape?
Turns out, it’s the anticipation—the waiting, the imagining, the mental rehearsal of disaster.
Once I named it, I could work with it.
Now, when anxiety creeps in weeks before a flight, I don’t push it away. I acknowledge it. Then I replace it.
I visualize the journey going smoothly. I imagine walking through the terminal calmly, boarding without hesitation, feeling the hum of the engines as a lullaby, not a threat.
On the plane, I practice gratitude.
Thank you for this seat. Thank you for skilled pilots. Thank you for safe skies.
I picture the plane descending gently, touching down softly, rolling to a stop at the gate. If it’s a new destination, I watch videos of the airport, study the layout, imagine myself walking through arrivals, smiling, free.
And I bring work—drafts, essays, ideas I love to write about. Because when I’m immersed in something meaningful, time flies. Literally.
This isn’t a magic cure.
Some flights are still harder than others.
But I’m no longer letting fear cancel trips, silence opportunities, or steal my peace.
Because here’s the truth:
Anxiety wants you to believe danger is everywhere.
But life? Life happens despite risk—not because it’s perfectly safe.
And I refuse to miss it just because I’m afraid of the sky.
If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Share it with someone who understands—or drop a comment below. You’re not alone.
Sara
Citizen of our Earth 