I'm leaving on a jet plane. Airplane food is surely missed. King Crimson is the soundtrack of my trip. There is a girl wearing a shirt next to me that says "Success comes from within, not from without" - Ralph Waldo Emerson. She's mad because I made her move her feet so I could sit down. Boy George is playing.

It sounds morbid, but my first thought before entering an aircraft is the run-through of preparation for death. I share an unspoken comradery with my fellow passengers- I think of who would hold my hand in the event of a plummet. I picture my final thoughts; my regrets. I think about what I would have done differently. Then I find my seat and do the crossword puzzle in the airplane magazine as the plane prepares for takeoff.

I used to be so afraid of planes, but now I just view the chance of crashing as a comical (somewhat romantic) experience. I think my phobia was born out of a time when I was much more afraid of death. I used to think that not being afraid of death would be empowering; but I've since changed my outlook. It means I'm taking life for granted.