I was ready for my vacation. I had ensured that I would have the week off from work. There was only one problem: the eventual flight that I would have to take in order to reach my vacation destination. I've hated the thought of flying for years now (though I've flown both to Sacramento and Chicago when I was a kid). My girlfriend had always wanted me to see San Francisco with her, but I kept telling her that a little trip to San Fran wouldn't be worth facing my fears for.

The ONLY way I would be willing to endure a flight would be to make it worth it and travel to Disney World. With that said, at least I'd go down while on the way to making a dream a reality.



An hour before the flight, I was in the L.A.X. terminal popping 1mg of Ativan into my mouth, drinking water, and itching to leave and get it all over with. When it was time to board, I sucked it up, sat in my chair, put my headphones on, and hung on. It was always the taking off that remembered hating.



After the liftoff, and several songs that mellowed me out, I was more amazed about the trip than anything else. It hit me: I'm on my way to Disney World. I'm going to make it, and my girlfriend and I will have the time of our lives.



By the time our plane was over Orlando, my head was looking out of the windows as far as my eyes would let me see. I wanted to see something, some evidence of Disney World...but all I saw was this as we cleared the Gulf and finally reached land again:



We landed. We survived. I was extremely happy, and NOW I could finally let go of any built up anxiety and allow myself to get excited about the days to follow.