I think I’d be all right if the plane just exploded in midair; I could deal with that. No time to know it. But if the engines packed up and you had a minute of freefall as the plane careered towards the ground, I couldn’t think of anything worse. Sixty seconds to reflect on things, to question whether you’ve done enough, been enough, seen enough. Lived enough. I say that because what if the answer to that is ‘no’? Now it’s too late to do anything about it. What’s not been said never will be, what’s not been done never will be. Your time has come, and now it’s gone. Though I guess this is the fear of regret. Not just of flying.
==========
I found solace in my acceptance that you can never have done enough, been enough, seen enough. Lived enough. There will always be something to chase. And in a strange way, I found contentment in this, and also tears. I guess this was the reality of life.
==========
And one of the hardest things I’d learned was that no matter how fast or how hard you try and run, you’ll never escape those things you’re running from, because they’re there, every time you look in the God-damn mirror. And realising this was terrifying, because in that moment you have to accept that this, today, is how it will always be. And life is life, wherever you happen to be living it.
==========
I had the only planning you really need — to be certain that it’s something you have to do. Not want to do, because that’s not enough. I think there’s got to be the understanding that there is no other way out; this is your only option, and therefore you must do this or forever wonder, what if? It was this that prevented me from ever quitting, or turning back, despite at times the growing urge to do so. My advice for anyone wanting to ride across the world on a bike is to look around, see what you’re going to risk, and then ask yourself if it’s worth it, because once you’ve gone, you’ve gone.