When I was in my early twenties, I was wrapped up in flying. Not like, you know, actually flying- but flying in airplanes. I loved the energy of airports, I obsessed over my frequent flier points and I calmly glided through the flight process like I a boss. (Probably more like young, middle management, but you know... all looked the same to my naive eyes.)

Then a few years into work, I was on an awful flight headed to New York that nearly resulted in an emergency landing in Ohio. I'll spare you the details, because we all have our own version of a flight that traumatizes us, right? But I'll just say- it forever changed the experience of flying in my mind from a carefree way to zip around the world to a anxiety-ridden form of transportation that involved getting slung into a metal canister across the sky. (Add our flight where the engine exploded last year... and, ugh, forget about it.)

This past week when we flew home from spending the holidays with our families, we cashed in (a heckuva lotta) miles to upgrade to business class. As we sat there in our little pods, I briefly remembered what it was like to not dread flying. I remembered the days when i was fun.

Maybe it's the scare of terrorism. Maybe it's the crazy costs of flights these days. Maybe it's flying with kids. Maybe it's the ever increasing crankiness of flight attendants. But for whatever it is, I no longer George Clooney my experience in the air. I'm more like Meg Ryan at the start of French Kiss singing "I Hate Paris in the Springtime..." just counting down the moments until we touch down.

So that's the truth. I fly all the time, but I kinda really hate it. I think most people don't like flying, right? Or am I wrong and everyone else still sees it as glamorous and fun?

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