Last night, my boy was on a plane to California. I will, admit, I was a little bit scared, but I didn't say anything to him, because since it was his first time on a plane, I didn't want to transmit my stress onto him. Yes, I am indeed afraid of flying. I'm not necessarily afraid of heights, or travelling, I'm more or less afraid that you're suspended 36 000 fucking feet in the air carried by a man-made contraption that can at any time succumb whimsically to whoever is in charge, or just through the miracles of science where something freaky happens like ice on the wings, or high winds or storms and in an instant the plane goes down and there's no way to escape. But mechanical failure and human error scares me more than mother nature.
I know people get on planes all the time, and the chances of you getting into a plane crash are incredibly slim, like less than winning the lottery slim, but what if me, or someone else I love, gets to be the winner of those odds. It's funny. People around me at work are travelling all the time. But I only worry when it's someone that I'm closed to is involved.
My worries are thankfully unfounded. The dude made it to LA alright, despite some odd delays. I'm now hoping he made it to his hotel in Anaheim. Today, he gets to wear a suit and look all pretty for NAMM (a big music gear convention, I know nothing of such things), then go partying afterwards, so yeah I'm pretty proud of him.