I used to love to travel on airplanes.
The feeling as the plane started to move and lifted off the ground. The view of the clouds. The tiny bathrooms. Every single element was joy.
I still enjoy elements of it: It’s usually nice to be able to get from point A to point B so quickly, it has allowed me to travel overseas, and the veiws are very cool. I don’t even really mind all of the airport security hoops, even though I feel that much of it is inconvenient without actually offering much protection. But I’m used to it, so I know how things work and I’m prepared and it goes smoothly.
I spent a good part of my day yesterday in transit. The first flight was small and bumpy, and as much as I once loved the sensation of being lifted off the ground yesterday my stomach was in knots and I did everything I could to sleep through as much of the flight as possible and distract myself from my motion sickness. The second flight was better, on a bigger plane with smoother flight and less noise, but of course by then I had been sitting for several hours and was restless and sore.
Overall, I seem to have lost much of the joy I once took in flying on airplanes. A sad thing to lose. But it does help narrow down the potential career choices just a little bit: I think I will not be a pilot.