To fear death is not an unusual phenomenon. That’s the reason we don’t smoke, the reason we wear a seatbelt, wait at red lights, and don’t walk alone at night. We want to keep ourselves alive.
So, when one steps onto a plane, the horrific possibility that we may die without any control in the matter suddenly becomes abundantly clear, and in sets panic. And with cases of turbulence consistently making front-page news, our trepidation is now higher than ever.
But we all know the statistic; you’re more likely to die in a car accident or get struck by lightning, than for the plane to crash. Yet, despite all these rational arguments, flying feels incredibly unnerving. I know that for me, every jolt of turbulence feels like an unfamiliar reminder of our fragile mortality.
For many of us, turbulence is the closest we’ve got to fearing death. This thought was prompted by a recent, and somewhat stormy, flight home from Medellín, the Colombian city that until recently was one of the most dangerous in the world.
The people of that city faced death every single day as paramilitary and guerrilla warfare brutally ruled for over 50 years. One local man explained he was the only one from his street who could survive the fighting and live past 30. No one could receive an education, work locally, or simply relax. Every aspect of life was marked by impending threats.
Now the violence is over, he and his fellow neighbours are relishing the monotony of the mundane. A local guide explained that, now, the local students take unimaginable joy out of attending newly established schools without risk.
After hearing stories of such a brutal reality, I realised that humanity is united in its love of safety, something we feel is stripped from us when we’re hit by turbulence. Instead of hating it, those lucky enough can cherish that a statistically safe flight is the biggest threat to our safety.
We could positively construe our fear of flying. Our desperate need to land safely simply signifies our love for life. Most of us are unhappy from time to time; some detest our heavy workloads, while others hate being involuntarily single, yet all these issues become irrelevant when that warning seatbelt light comes on. We simply want to return to earth.
Life is beautiful. Perhaps you’re fortunate enough to relax each evening with a movie, have a regular lunch with friends, or spend your Saturdays carelessly dancing in Cowgate. When we’re flying, that’s what we’re craving; the safe but delicious comfort of our daily routine.
Will this philosophy make flying enjoyable? I’m not so sure, but I do believe we should acknowledge that our desire to land safely proves that we want to keep living our lives. At least that’s what I will tell myself the next time the easyJet pilot announces a patch of turbulence mid-flight!
“easyJet Europe OE-IZF Airbus A320-214 Sharklets cn/6831 @ EGKK / LGW 28-05-2018” by Nabil Molinari Photography is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
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Is Turbulence Life Affirming?
To fear death is not an unusual phenomenon. That’s the reason we don’t smoke, the reason we wear a seatbelt, wait at red lights, and don’t walk alone at night. We want to keep ourselves alive.
So, when one steps onto a plane, the horrific possibility that we may die without any control in the matter suddenly becomes abundantly clear, and in sets panic. And with cases of turbulence consistently making front-page news, our trepidation is now higher than ever.
But we all know the statistic; you’re more likely to die in a car accident or get struck by lightning, than for the plane to crash. Yet, despite all these rational arguments, flying feels incredibly unnerving. I know that for me, every jolt of turbulence feels like an unfamiliar reminder of our fragile mortality.
For many of us, turbulence is the closest we’ve got to fearing death. This thought was prompted by a recent, and somewhat stormy, flight home from Medellín, the Colombian city that until recently was one of the most dangerous in the world.
The people of that city faced death every single day as paramilitary and guerrilla warfare brutally ruled for over 50 years. One local man explained he was the only one from his street who could survive the fighting and live past 30. No one could receive an education, work locally, or simply relax. Every aspect of life was marked by impending threats.
Now the violence is over, he and his fellow neighbours are relishing the monotony of the mundane. A local guide explained that, now, the local students take unimaginable joy out of attending newly established schools without risk.
After hearing stories of such a brutal reality, I realised that humanity is united in its love of safety, something we feel is stripped from us when we’re hit by turbulence. Instead of hating it, those lucky enough can cherish that a statistically safe flight is the biggest threat to our safety.
We could positively construe our fear of flying. Our desperate need to land safely simply signifies our love for life. Most of us are unhappy from time to time; some detest our heavy workloads, while others hate being involuntarily single, yet all these issues become irrelevant when that warning seatbelt light comes on. We simply want to return to earth.
Life is beautiful. Perhaps you’re fortunate enough to relax each evening with a movie, have a regular lunch with friends, or spend your Saturdays carelessly dancing in Cowgate. When we’re flying, that’s what we’re craving; the safe but delicious comfort of our daily routine.
Will this philosophy make flying enjoyable? I’m not so sure, but I do believe we should acknowledge that our desire to land safely proves that we want to keep living our lives. At least that’s what I will tell myself the next time the easyJet pilot announces a patch of turbulence mid-flight!
“easyJet Europe OE-IZF Airbus A320-214 Sharklets cn/6831 @ EGKK / LGW 28-05-2018” by Nabil Molinari Photography is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
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