Fear Of Flying

In the good old days, flying was like breathing. It was just something you did. New York, Detroit, Chicago, Minneapolis, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, Houston, you get it. Then there was the international trail to London and Paris, Helsinki, Tokyo, etc.

Now mix in one massive dose of stroke. Until it came time to go somewhere, I didn’t think about it much. It took me almost a year just to drive a car again. But my partner, Adam, decided it was time to go back up to Connecticut. I was cured to death. Get on the shuttle. Go to the airport. Get off. Check bags. It was quite a daunting thought to figure out how to navigate an airport when the words come the signs look like pretty pictures. But I did get. I was terrified. But, I did it. It wasn’t so bad after all.

There are two things you have to do. One, trust what memory you have left. Two, walk with a cane. Until I needed one, I never realized this symbolic power that a team has in modern society. Crutches, or a wheelchair seem to connote to the masses “This person is past his prime.” They defined the user is someone who is ill or injured. But a cane – a cane signifies a fighter, someone who overcomes obstacles, who is not stopped, even by a brick wall. Dancers on stage use canes in their routine. Batt Masterson, that sophisticated, old West crime fighter, and even magicians use canes. They denote a person who not only overcomes some physical imperfection – but even excels in other areas to more than even the balance.

Maybe I can no longer read 1000 words a minute or throw a baseball with my right hand or walk without a limp – but I carry a cane. I am a mighty figure. Batt Masterson, Look out. You have a very formidable 21^st century competitor – me.