Twenty countries. A friend of mine has visited twenty different countries, many of them multiple times and about ten alone this summer. Yet amidst his perfectly exposed pictures of Belgian canals, videos of bungee jumping off a bridge in New Zealand, and stories of one-of-a-kind, life-changing experiences in China, my mind still can’t help but just try to fathom how he could possibly handle spending so much time in a metal box hurtling through the air at 40,000 feet.

If you can’t tell, flying is not exactly my cup of tea, but I have my reasons. In the fourth grade, my teacher traumatized me with a documentary about two planes whose visibilities and communications were botched by a foggy day. They collided immediately upon takeoff. Everyone died instantly. Thanks for the nightmares, Ms. G.

I’ll also admit to having my own slightly irrational fears, given my childhood imagination. My fear of flying went beyond the more conceivable “plane crash in a storm” story. I, on the other hand, was genuinely afraid that the plane would somehow unexpectedly and instantaneously run out of all fuel and just drop like deadweight through the air and into the ocean where we somehow survived the impact but proceeded to get eaten by sharks. It didn’t matter if I was only flying over land; my imminent death was undoubtedly by shark.

Nevertheless, as the years have gone by I’ve learned to push those fears aside because though the process of getting there gives me slight anxiety, like most others I love going on vacation. In fact, I experienced a significant moment of pride this summer as I stepped on a plane alone for the first time in my life to study abroad in Europe; never mind the fact that I was sick to my stomach basically the entire seven hours and almost tore through skin on the arm of the passenger sitting next to me when we hit some turbulence. I made it relatively panic free. However, little did I know that the most stressful flight experience was yet to come and it would have nothing to do with actually being on a plane.

During my time abroad I did a good amount of travelling, one my favorite trips being one to Brussels to visit my aforementioned worldly friend – because of course he was abroad as well. The stress came with my 9:06 pm return flight. Being the nervous flyer that I am, I normally arrive at the airport about two hours before departure in the case of any extenuating circumstances. This time, however, to save money on a taxi, my friend and I decided that a 7:08 half hour train ride should leave me enough time to get through the tiny South Charleroi Airport. Again I repeat, little did I know.

First issue: the train ride turned out to be an hour long. Panic. We walk out of the train station a little past eight only to find out that we have to take a fifteen-minute bus ride from the train station to the airport. Panic. Moreover, after desperately checking every pocket in every article of clothing and bag we had on us we realized we only had enough money for one of us to get on the bus. With an international cellular plan that only covered me Spain, I was heading to an airport that was essentially in the middle of nowhere Belgium without any means of contacting anyone if I missed my flight. Panic. After sitting on the bus with my friend waiting for me to leave for about ten minutes, I’m hyperventilating because the vehicle isn’t moving. My friend asks the driver in French when the bus would make its way over and he responds that it has to wait fifteen to twenty minutes for trains to unload. It didn’t leave the train station until 8:26. Panic.

I promise you I actually remember all these extremely specific times and that should tell you how unbearably frightened I was of missing my flight, of being stranded in Belgium with no means of contact, insufficient money to purchase another flight, and no idea how to get back to my friend’s apartment if it came down to that. The bus finally arrives at the airport at 8:42 and I sprint through the doors to get my ticket stamped by the airline. The woman at the desk takes her sweet time despite what I would think was my obvious face of desperation. Facial expressions were my only possible manner of conveying my frantic situation, as I speak neither French nor Dutch, the two local languages.

I reach security at about 8:50 pretty positive that the gate for my 9:06 flight had closed, but still needing to make that last-stitch effort just to be able to say to myself that I had done everything possible. There are two lines and I’m flitting frantically back and forth between them in a futile attempt to determine which one is shorter when a security guard spots me. He gives me a quizzical look and points to his watch and all I can think is WHY THE HELL is this guy asking me about the hour at a time like this?!

I’m clearly baffled and frustrated, but he repeats the movement followed by a forward motion this time and I realize that he is inquiring if I’m running short on time so that he could move me to the front of the line. I manage to squeak out a yes and about a million thank yous as I push through the line, knocking down several separating posts on the way. I throw my stuff down and run through to the other side to retrieve it as quickly as possible, pretty certain that my stuff was not examined at all – a woman actually asked me if I had liquids because I was suppose to separate them and after I responded with a defeated “yes,” she simply asked me to confirm if they were small before just letting me through.

With all my belongings hanging off of me, I sprint to my gate faster than I’ve ever sprinted, a big deal for me as those who know me and my hatred of running well can affirm. As my gate number appears before me, a boarding line comes into sight and I really don’t think I could have felt more relief. I tag on to the end of the line and throw my stuff down only to come to the horrifying realization that I’m missing a bag. I left it at security. Panic. Though extremely close to deciding to simply leave it, I remember all the money I spent on the items in the bag and know I have to run back to retrieve it. I yell to the person in front of me – in English mind you with no idea whether or not they understood me – to please watch my belongings because they would only slow me down and sprinted away, which I very much realize you are REALLY not suppose to do in airports but in my mind I had no other choice.

Security had set my bag aside so I grabbed it almost without stopping and began running back to my gate as the guards chuckled at my pain. My luggage is still in place when I return and I gratefully set my other bag down with it. Utterly winded and sweating more than I’m proud to admit – I was wearing a sweater AND a jacket over my shirt because I was afraid to get charged for an overweight carryon – I thanked the woman in front of me. She smiled and in perfect English said to me, “You made it.” All I could manage in response was an embarrassing and lackadaisical single fist of victory thrown in the air. She proceeded to laugh and I wasn’t quite sure what it was that she found so amusing until she followed up with words I just couldn’t believe after my struggle-filled journey: “The flight’s been delayed half an hour.” I almost cried.

So I stood at the gate for another twenty-five minutes before even being able to board, which was honestly fine with me. It gave me a chance to regain my breath and reduce my sweating before sitting on another nerve-racking flight for two hours, though I have to admit that it was probably the least anxious I had ever been on a trip itself. I had probably already used up all my anxiety for the day.

In any case, for any other nervous flyers out there, I apologize more than anything for relating the story that scarred me in fourth grade. If you’re anything like me, I’m sure that that’s what you’ll remember from this article the next time you fly instead of being grateful that you’re not hyperventilating like an idiot from both the stress of almost missing your flight and the energy you exerted in attempting not to because maybe you’re not exactly in the best shape and like to have lots of clothing options when you travel. I understand; that ghastly documentary was still on my mind when I got on my next flight because believe me that was all I had to worry about. I was at the airport three hours early.