I despise airplane rides. I hate packing things into one (or two) fifty pound bags and having to think about what I’m actually going to wear for the next four or ten days. Too much thought and I can’t predict the weather, my mood or random circumstances that arise. I don’t like sitting next to strangers or that my ears hurt with all that altitude. I really don’t like not being able to listen to music during take-off and landing. I also hate when I start a deep text conversation and then have to shut off my phone. I really don’t like running from one terminal to another or the fear that something will be stolen from my bag during flight.
As legitimate as all these reasons are for dislike flying… they are all just a cover. Up to now I’ve hated being the fat girl on the plane. I hated the difficulties with getting my dang seatbelt on and the discomfort that I feel like I place on those around me.
I flew this past week. Six takeoffs, six landings, and four seatbelts… but it was okay. MY SEATBLET FIT. It didn’t just fit, but I could tighten it. Let me tell you something… I haven’t had to tighten a seatbelt in years, literally. But I did… each time. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted—literally.
I feel accomplished. Will blog more later!
I flew this past week. Six takeoffs, six landings, and four seatbelts… but it was okay. MY SEATBLET FIT. It didn’t just fit, but I could tighten it. Let me tell you something… I haven’t had to tighten a seatbelt in years, literally. But I did… each time. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted—literally. 
