There’s a thing I used to have to do why I flew: I would pray, panic and sweat. However, having traveled quite a bit over the past few years, I’ve learned to be a little less uneasy and each trip has made me a little more confident. I no longer have to talk myself out a full panic attack, or practice deep breathing while digging my nails into the arm rests as the airplane takes off. I can even close my eyes while the flight attendants speak, and not stare intensely as if they are about to deliver the meaning of life when they demonstrate how to put on the oxygen mask.
But still, I keep thinking about the Air France flight that just disappeared. I read every news article that comes across my screen, I follow the news for the latest developments. I hope somehow they’ll find something, yet I get nothing.
But tragedy has a way of making me ponder my own life.
It makes me wonder, what would my family have to say about me? How about my friends? Would they show a picture of me on TV? Which picture? What would the people at the over at The View say about me say about me in my short, maybe three sentence obituary as my face flashed on the screen? And that Katie Couric? Would they dig up old photos of me and my friends? Would they show happy pictures of me and my family?
But the most important question of all: what would I want them to say about me? I’m not sure what they’d say, but just thinking about the answer reminds me that we cannot wait to start living the lives we want to live because we don’t know how many tomorrows are in our future. We can just hope for a lot of good ones.