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.

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.

Home from the adventure

I went to Connecticut for two weeks. It was the third such trip I've made since I had my stroke. I've gotten pretty good at getting to and from the airport, navigating once I'm there, and getting to my final destination.

Congratulations again, Chris and Ajza. That's the reason I went to Connecticut this time.

Chris, now theres a chip off the old block. He'll try anything once ... eating bugs and worms, stinging himself on the arm with multiple critters to see which hurt worst. We won't even mention his four year stint in the Marines. I'm glad he lived through it long enough to settle down and get married, even if he is still crazy.

I remember the first time I flew on an airplane after my stroke. I was scared to death. It seems as though the first time I was doing anything new, post stroke, it was like doing it for the first time. There is a difference in my psyche. I used to have no concept of fear. Hang gliding, bungee jumping, motorcycle riding, an adrenalin junkie ... that's how I used to live. Perhaps that's why was married three times.

I've decided that the most significant aspect of my stroke, psychologically, is that I now know what fear is. I've developed this ability to be afraid of things. In most modern situations, except for the most extreme, like being robbed at gun point, falling off a cliff, or having somebody try to run you down with their car, fear is pretty useless. That is, unless it can be positively channeld.

I watched my daughter break her arm in an accident. A while later, she broke her big toe in another accident. my son split open his four head one Halloween evening. Things like that happened. The instant clear mind, the ability to raise a sense of humor in the midst of disaster, basically the effects of adrenaline can be useful. I'm not against adrenaline -- just fear, which is debilitating.

Here is my message to you. Raising the adrenaline level is okay. Channeling that adrenaline, with a clear mind, is okay. Fear, however, is relatively useless. My kids haven't died from climbing trees and falling out. I haven't died, yet, for many of the crazy things I've done. Would we as a family have done is live every minute of every day, and know what it means to be alive. Now I have a new appreciation for that.

I think I'll give up fear for Lent.