Fear of flying

You all remember I'm going to Scotland, right? I'm traveling there with Debbie to hike the West Highland Way. In fact, at this point I check in for my flight in just about 60 hours from right now. 

I've bought all the things I think I'm going to need. 

I know where we are going to be staying. 

I even tried packing my suitcase a few days ago, and all the big stuff fits just fine. I haven't packed the carry-on backpack yet, but I'm not worried about it.

I just wish I could shake this overall feeling of anxiety.

Marie has been anxious too, but it's different. She's anxious because she fears something bad will happen on the hike, when we are out in the middle of the Highlands and far from other people. We've had a long talk about hypothermia, plus she's sent a number of follow-up emails with lots of useful information.

Of course I understand her point, and I have tried to reassure her. Lots of people hike this trail every year. Also I went and bought a new down jacket that fits underneath my new raincoat, so she shouldn't have to worry. And it does seem to have helped her relax a bit.

Me, I find I get anxious at the flying.

It's ironic, because when I was young I was a pretty fearless flyer. So far as I can remember, my worries about flying started around the time the boys were born, when I had to travel for work but now there was somebody depending on me. (Somebody besides Wife, that is.) But since that time I have become a progressively more anxious passenger. This is despite my knowing intellectually that flying is the safest form of travel per mile traveled. There are far more accidents in cars toodling slowly around their own neighborhoods. On the other hand, airplane accidents are far more likely to be lethal. And in any event, if I want to get from America to Scotland, I don't have a lot of other choices. (Same with traveling to New Zealand, or Greece, or Peru.)

Anyway, there's nothing for it. But among other things this trip prompted me to get off my ass and update a letter I had left for the boys with instructions about what to do in case I die. I don't have a will (or not a current one), but I also don't have any big-ticket assets. Mostly they need to know how to contact my insurance and the folks that manage my IRA. Also I asked them to pass some stuff along to Marie, and I gave all three of them the URL to this blog. I don't want them to have it while I'm alive, you understand, for the sake of privacy. But after I'm dead, who cares? At least maybe somebody will read it.

I think it's when I told Marie about updating this letter that she started to get really spooked. And of course it's not like I'm really ready to die yet. But shit happens, and it is better to be at least a little prepared.

And I haven't been able to shake my background anxiety about the trip. To be fair, I think there's nothing abnormal about the anxiety. But it is surely there.

So there are still a lot of little odds and ends to clear away. Plus there's … let's call it a Really Big Thing going on at my consulting job tomorrow, something that will pretty much occupy me for all of Tuesday and probably much of Wednesday. Can I then get everything else done in the time remaining after that? Oh, doubtless. But until it's actually done I'm going to fret.

The travel agency that has arranged this trip for us asked for an emergency contact, and after talking with her I listed Marie. So if something bad does happen (God forbid!), she'll have to call my kids and my mom to let them know. The letter to my kids lists other people who have to be told.

And I wish I knew more about what is going on with them. I don't want to be a pest, and heaven knows my life doesn't revolve around them. But when people ask me how they are I have to make shit up. I saw Son 1 briefly before Christmas (as described in this post here) and then literally the very next contact I had with him was an email this evening, replying to my question whether he needs an emergency financial bailout. 

You see, years ago I was added to his checking account as an authorized depositor; so I get copies of notices that are sent to him. A few days ago I got a notice (addressed to him) that his checking balance had hit zero; this was followed not long after by a notice of Not Sufficient Funds when his rent check hit his account to the tune of somewhere north of $2500. Well, he moved some money around to cover it, but his next paycheck isn't for another week. So I wrote him saying that if he needs help, he needs to ask for it. I got a note this evening saying no, he doesn't need help; also he agrees with another remark I made, that it's time to take me off of his account. The note was friendly enough, but all business.

As for Son 2, he called me a week or two ago with a question about how medical billing is normally handled. (Somehow he figures I'm an expert on the subject—shocker, that, after 30 years with Wife!) But I've heard very little from him since he and Beryl visited over Christmas.

In the big picture, this is fine. They are young and just starting out: their lives are all-consuming. I remember at a comparable age I didn't check in much with my parents. 

Also, I remember way back when the boys were little that I got into a disagreement with D, of all people, about parenting. (This was probably back when she was still Wife's best friend.) Anyway, D said something about trying to calibrate her parenting style so that she could remain friends with her children even when they grew up. (I may have the details slightly wrong.) But I remember thinking, No, that's not it at all. You can't try to be friends with your children because you are not eligible for friendship. The relationship will always be shaped by the parent-child dynamic, even when they are adults. Then I went one step further, and decided (in my own mind, at least) that the only way I could carry out the job of Father successfully was to do whatever was Right in each situation regardless of the long-term outcome. This meant that I had to reconcile myself to the possible worst-case scenario that my kids might choose never to speak to me again once they were adults and could decide that for themselves. It was something I put in front of myself as a kind of spiritual exercise. Of course I hoped it would never come to that, but I kept thinking it through until I was sure that I could live with it if it did.

The times that I do hear from the boys, either of them, that's not what I hear in their voices. What I hear is that they have a lot going on, and they are trying to figure out how to handle their lives as adults. It's not an easy thing to do. So I understand why I don't hear more from them.

But I wish I did.

This has wandered very far from the topic of anxiety over my trip. Plus I've got this Really Big Thing at work tomorrow. Maybe it's time for bed.