Fear of Flying.

When I was flat on my back in the hospital, my dear friend and business partner Adam came to Florida to visit me several times. After I came to my mothers house to live, Adam suggested that I make a trip up to Connecticut to visit him and my son Christopher, who lived in the nearby town. What was once as natural as breathing became one of the scariest events in my life.

I hadn't yet recovered enough to drive. I rarely ventured outside the house. In fact, I had just learned to walk with a cane and forgo the wheelchair. the world outside was terrifying. I couldn't read street signs. I couldn't remember words. I had no peripheral vision on the right hand side. Everything looks strange, smelled strange, tasted strange. My senses deceived me. It was as though I had dropped into an alien, foreboding, parallel universe.

I mustered up the courage. I had always been an adventurer. This was just another danger. Para-sailing, bungee jumping, all those risky things than I did in my former life paled in comparison to stepping on an airplane. But I did it. I guess, even with the stroke, once an adrenaline junkie, always an adrenaline junkie. All that changed was the drug.

I had a wonderful, two-week trip. It broke me out of my shell. It forced me to begin tour the world. What seemed an insurmountable obstacle, at first blush, turned out to be a mere annoyance. A little harder to do than before.

As humans we need to push ourselves. We need to do that which is slightly fearful, to overcome small challenges, so that we grow and can overcome larger challenges. I suppose I knew that before I had my stroke. But I never consciously thought about it. Now I do. And I'm grateful for the lesson.