Fear of Flying

Over Spring Break I started taking flying lessons with my Dad. He's a great teacher, and my background knowledge of physics and conversations with him over the years have helped me come along at a satisfactory pace. He's even agreed to instruct me for free, though I'm sure I'll wash his planes a few times for payment along the way.

I'm not sure if my recent flight training has anything to do with this, but I had the most terrifying dream last night. I don't think it indicates an unconscious fear of flying or a mistrust of my father, but it's haunted me all day nonetheless.

In this dream, I was flying along in the Bonanza with my Dad over the countryside near my hometown. He was instructing me in his steady, patient manner, and I was trying my best to follow his directions. As we came in for a landing at the Burnet airport, I found myself in total command of the controls, something I was not (and am not) prepared for. As a result, I jammed the plane onto the runway, crippling the wheel struts and nearly flipping the plane over before bringing it to a grinding halt. My father was fuming, and I was in a cold sweat brought on by a sense of having narrowly avoided my demise.

We loaded the plane onto a trailer without speaking a word. I expected to ride back with Dad in the truck, but he inexplicably told me that as punishment I had to fly for another few hours with my brother in the passenger seat. Steven climbed into the Remos beside me and we took off. A few minutes in, the sky began to grow dark and we started encountering turbulence. The winds buffeted our tiny craft, and I began to fear that I couldn't control the plane.

Suddenly, my point of view shifted from a first person perspective to a view from outside, as though looking at my plane from another flying beside it. The frame of the Remos began to shift in strange ways, and eventually the wings detached with a horrific snapping sound. The entire plane fell to pieces, and I watched helplessly as my brother and I tumbled to earth, still strapped to our seats. After a few moments of free-fall, we became nothing more than scattered remains strew across a woody hillside in central Texas.

I woke up sobbing.

I rarely remember my dreams, so the vividness of my recollection in this case indicates the profound impact this experience has had on me. I'm unsure what it means, but I'm suddenly incredibly nervous about the idea of ever flying with anyone else in the cockpit. My expression of wide-eyed terror as I hurtled downward absurdly clutching the now-useless yoke is difficult to banish from my thoughts.