My response to coming home from Ireland has been a little delayed. Partly because life has been busy, and partly because I needed time to process what this trip meant to me.
Ireland was amazingly beautiful. We packed our days with as much sightseeing and exploring as possible. It was also our first time flying overseas, which meant that before I could experience any of it, I had to do something that terrified me: get on the plane.
So, how did I do?
Our first flight was from Kansas City to Detroit and lasted about two hours. I promised myself I would try to make it through that flight without drinking or taking my anxiety medication. Since our flight was in the afternoon, I stayed away from coffee that morning because caffeine and anxiety are already close friends. They did not need extra time together before I boarded an airplane.
I kept the rest of my day as normal as possible. I went for a walk and jog, did some mundane activities around the house, and tried not to spend the whole morning imagining every possible thing that could go wrong.
On the plane, I listened to music that was speaking to my soul and played Sudoku. Apparently, my brain cannot solve number puzzles and plan an aviation disaster at the same time. Doing both helped keep my mind occupied, and before I knew it, we had landed in Detroit.
I was proud to have the first leg behind me.
We had about a six-hour layover, which we spent walking through the airport. Our goal was to reach 10,000 steps before getting on a plane for seven and a half hours. If I was going to be trapped in an economy seat all night, I at least wanted my watch to congratulate me first.
About an hour before boarding, I started getting very nervous. The thought of being confined on a plane for that long was becoming overwhelming, so I took some anxiety medication to help me stay calm.
The flight was completely full. We chose seats over the wings to reduce the feeling of turbulence and seats near the bathrooms, which seemed like solid planning for a long flight. Our seats were in the middle row of four, and we placed John next to the stranger. Marriage is about compromise, after all.
Before the trip, friends had told me that you do not feel turbulence as much on larger planes. I will be honest: I did not believe them. But they were right. The difference was night and day. Takeoff was a breeze, and although we experienced some turbulence a few hours into the flight, it was not bad.
We had eaten dinner before boarding because I did not want a full meal at 10 or 11 at night. Still, when the flight attendants offered dinner, I accepted it. Eating gave me something to do for about 30 minutes, and when you are trying to fill seven and a half hours, every minute counts. I had a few bites, and the food was actually not half bad.
I tried to sleep, but I never managed more than a few minutes at a time. Evidently, my body does not recognize sitting upright beside strangers as an appropriate sleep environment.
When we landed, I was elated. Throughout that first day, I kept saying how thankful I was to be having this experience with my family. I could not believe I had actually gotten on the plane and made it to Ireland.
We had so many wonderful experiences, but one evening in Galway made the flight feel especially worthwhile. Galway is a vibrant, artsy city on the coast, and we got to join a silent dance party moving through the streets. We sang poorly, danced freely, and completely lived in the moment. It was carefree, ridiculous, and wonderful.
In moments like that, the fear feels smaller. Not because it was never real, but because I could see what was waiting on the other side of it.
An Unexpected Change of Plans
Two days before we were scheduled to fly home, we received a notification saying that, because of possible weather affecting our return through Boston, we could change our flight without paying a fee.
That notification sent me into a panic.
One minute, I was adamant that we needed to change our flight. The next, I was equally adamant that we should leave it alone. My anxious brain became convinced that either choice might be the wrong one.
What if we were meant to stay on the original flight and changed to one that was doomed to crash? But what if the notification was divine intervention, and the original flight was the doomed one?
Anxiety is very creative. It can turn a free flight change into a full philosophical debate about fate, destiny, and aircraft safety.
I spent a rough few hours wrestling with thoughts that I knew were irrational but that still felt frighteningly real. That is one of the hardest things about anxiety: knowing a thought is irrational does not always stop your body from responding as if it is true.
Talking with John helped me reframe the situation. Before the trip, we had looked into extending our stay by a couple of days, but changing the flights had been too expensive. Now we had the opportunity to do exactly that for free.
Maybe this was not a warning. Maybe it was a gift.
I decided I would feel more comfortable changing the flights if we could return through Detroit and then fly home to Kansas City. I had already flown both of those routes, so they felt familiar. My brain might be anxious, but it appreciates a rerun.
We were incredibly lucky and gained two extra nights in Ireland. That allowed us to take a day trip to Dunluce Castle, Giant’s Causeway, and Belfast — which became my second-favorite day of the entire trip.
Giant’s Causeway was absolutely stunning. We also took a walking tour of Belfast with a guide who was deeply passionate about the place he lived and about sharing its story. It was one of those days we would have completely missed if our plans had stayed the same.
Anxiety had told me that changing our flight could lead to disaster. In reality, it led us to one of the best days of our trip.
The Flight Home
On our final morning, we got up early and walked around Dublin before the morning hustle began. We took in the quiet streets and appreciated the extra time we had been given to explore Ireland.
I was anxious about flying home, especially about sitting still for so many hours. While waiting to board, I walked up and down the airport corridor until I reached 10,000 steps. About 30 minutes before boarding, I took my anxiety medication.
I did well on the long flight, even when our entertainment system stopped working about an hour after takeoff and never came back on. Losing the movies on a seven-and-a-half-hour flight felt a little personal, but I managed. I tried to sleep again, and once again, sleep wanted nothing to do with me.
When we reached Detroit, we had a few hours before our final flight to Kansas City. Surprisingly, that last, shorter flight made me extremely nervous.
I could not stop thinking about how tragic it would be to have had this amazing trip and then have the plane crash when we were so close to home. I took more anxiety medication because I knew I had to get on that final flight.
I also tried to remind myself that tragedy can happen anywhere. Something could happen while driving home from the airport or even after we were safely home. Trying to predict and prevent every possible disaster was not protecting me. It was only stealing the moment I was actually living.
For the flight to Kansas City, I returned to the things that had helped me before: meaningful music and games on my phone. I did not need to feel fearless. I only needed to keep moving through the fear.
When we landed in Kansas City, the full weight of what I had accomplished finally hit me.
I had flown overseas.
I had spent seven and a half hours on a plane.
I had felt anxious, had frightening thoughts, and had moments when I wanted to change course — but I still did it.
The trip did not cure my fear of flying. I did not come home transformed into someone who loves turbulence, sleeps peacefully in economy, or casually watches the wings during takeoff. But I came home knowing that I can be afraid and still get on the plane.
That may be the most important lesson Ireland gave me.
Things that seem impossibly far away are closer than I realize. There is a whole world out there that I want to see and experience, and I do not want fear to make my world smaller.
We are flying to Austin in September. We have another trip planned for February 2027, and we hope to go overseas again in April 2027.
I expect I will be scared. I will probably walk thousands of steps through another airport, rely on music and puzzles, and give John the seat next to the stranger. I may need medication to help me through some flights, and I am no longer going to treat that as a failure.
Courage is not always feeling calm. Sometimes courage looks like preparing carefully, accepting support, managing the anxiety as it comes, and stepping onto the plane anyway.
So that is what I plan to do.
I will keep getting on the planes, even when I am scared, because this life is brief and there is too much of the world I still want to see.