All ignorance toboggans into know.

What is funny is that you can be afraid of things no matter how old you get. You think you’d grow out of it, out of something as silly as being afraid. Because being scared of something seems to be directly associated in our brains to our childhoods – being afraid of the dark, of the next door neighbor’s German Shepard who at the time was relatively the same size as you, of clowns, of being alone, of getting yelled at for spilled ice cream on shirts, for getting a bad grade on a spelling test, or breaking that glass vase that’s been in the family for generations.

What’s funny is that when you get older it’s not that you’re no longer scared, you’re just scared of different things – scared of how you’ll look in the morning when it’s no longer dark, of the next door neighbor’s wrath after you accidentally ran over their German Shepard with your car, of clowns (still), of being alone (forever), of getting yelled at for doing your job wrong, getting fired, then not having enough money to pay the rent.

I left Manhattan for a few days on a plane and I remembered the first time I flew when I was in the first grade. I remembered that I loved to fly. I loved everything about it. How fast the wheels turned before take-off, the ascent into the clouds, the rumble of turbulence, the screeching jolt of the landing. I sat on my knees in the window seat and peered out in what now resonates only as embarrassingly naïve fascination.

Now, trapped between a portly fellow asleep and taking over more than his fair share of arm space, and a girl about eighteen with her quilted Chanel handbag ($1,995), crying before take-off through her pink phone to presumably a friend about how “totally not upset Sean was” about her leaving, and how he “is trying to act all like, mature like, you know, blah blah, like ‘call me when you land,’ or whatever. And I just want to be like, God! Just like be a teenager ya know? We’re not married”) – I started to feel the fear.

What if this is it? What if something happens and the wheels don’t turn fast enough before take-off and the ascent into the clouds is rocky and the rumble of the turbulence takes us out of the air before we can even think about the loud screeching jolt of the landing? And how could I not be afraid when my last image would be of Chanel Handbag applying a full (and might I add, excessive) makeup routine mid-flight lasting over a half hour after waxing sentimental about her future with Sean?

But everything, of course, was fine. My fear faded and we landed. Portly Man woke up and moved his arm so that I could actually sit back in my seat, and Chanel Handbag thanked me (though who am I really to be giving relationship advice?) and complimented me on my own bag, which I neglected to tell her cost me $10 on Broadway and Spring.

Planes and life up you, and up the stakes, and the older you get the more realize that you don’t outgrow being afraid like you did that favorite pair of pajamas with feet (in yellow). We are afraid of flying, of regrets, of missing out on the important things in life, like designer handbags and loving Sean and it just becomes a part of who we are, and we learn (hopefully) to deal with it, (mostly), because aisle, window seat or center, sometimes you just don’t have a choice.