I’m flying to Florida in a few hours and all morning I’ve had this terrible feeling that I should not get on the flight. I didn’t feel like I should cancel the trip as much as I had a strong urge to change to an earlier flight. But I wasn’t packed and I hadn’t straightened up the house and I needed to answer a few emails so I decided that I would simply drop everything and focus on packing. Once I was completely ready to leave the house, I would call the airline and check on another flight. If one was available I’d consider that a sign from the Divine and hightail it to the airport.
One was available but there was a catch. I had one hour and fifteen minutes to get to the airport, park, go through security, get to the gate and rearrange my ticket. Mapquest tells me that without traffic it would take me 59 minutes to drive the 53 miles to the terminal. And rumor has it that I’ll be needing to show the security folks my ziplock bag of travel sized toiletries before I can gain access to my gate. The odds of me making it there on time were basically slim to none – but for a second I seriously considered trying to do it. My theory being that if I got there late and missed that flight, I would take it as a sign that my regularly scheduled flight was safe.
Then it hit me – why would I risk dying in car to get to the airport earlier to avoid dying on a plane? Luckily the left, logical hemisphere of my brain, took over and reminded me that driving 80 miles an hour is a bad idea. Statistically speaking I’m more apt to be in a car accident today than a plane crash. So I bagged it. I checked my email, returned some phone calls and I might even unload the dishwasher before I leave. There’s also a pile of weeds on my patio that I should seriously bag up before the rains come this weekend. I might as well get that done – I have nothing else to do for the next hour.
I have no idea why I had such a bad, uncomfortable feeling all morning. I’m clueless as to why I was close to tears thinking about getting on this plane. Maybe my weird feelings were to simply get my ass moving so I wouldn’t be running late in a few hours? Or maybe when I’m a fireball at 20,000 feet I’ll think, Fuck, why didn’t I take that earlier flight?
Yet I honestly feel okay to board this plane so I’m going to risk it. Now, if you hear that flight 141 didn’t make it, it was nice knowing you. But if it does, consider this a reminder that intuition is a great thing but it must be mixed with logic to be really effective. You can only do your magic when you use a little of both.