AS I STEPPED OFF THE AIRCRAFT after my flight from Paris to Montreal, I thought to myself, There’s no way I’m getting on the next one.
Afflicted with severe flight phobia, I’d just spent seven hours being shaken about above the Atlantic Ocean, clutching a picture of my partner as my only consolation. I’d been sure I was going to die in horrible circumstances, all alone, in a metal bullet with 350 smelly strangers. I was sobbing, calling the flight attendants for help, and holding onto my neighbor for hours. The last thing I wanted to do was go through the whole ordeal for another five hours on the way to Vancouver.