Crash landing

I was raised with a healthy dose of religious skepticism (or maybe I should say resentment). Both my parents abandoned the church going/grace saying practices of their parents in exchange for more agnostic viewpoints. My own study of spirituality has lead me to the understanding that at their heart most religions are not bad, in fact they seem to be teaching the exact same thing. What I have gleaned to be most important is being present, being grateful, and being kind.

But a funny thing happens when I am sitting in an airplane taxiing for take off, all that contemplative thought goes out the window. The last traces of ancestral Catholicism coursing through my blood rises up. If I had rosary beads handy I would most certainly pull them out and through some divine inspiration know exactly what to do with them. I am all formalities, ‘dear god’, clenched hands, the whole shebang, praying repeatedly for our safe flight. This soliloquy of pleading is more superstition than prayer, the only defense I have against the visions of spontaneous combustion, detaching wings, and maniacal pilots that try to push their way into my thoughts.

Uta is more pragmatic in his flight preparations. He calmly reads the safety manual along with the flight attendants instructional video. Afterwards he recaps for me how to evacuate the plane in the case of a crash landing (he knows I haven’t been listening). He is not the least bit scared to fly, he finds all the reassurance he needs in knowing the key differences between land and sea rescues.