Charlotte Latvala: Flights of anxiety rise at airports
Is it me or is it airports?
“Text me when you’re through security!” I have shouted at each of my kids recently as I dropped them off. “And once you’re on the plane!”
My “kids” are fully functioning adults. The oldest has been flying solo for a decade, all over the world — Australia, Southeast Asia, Europe. She’s flown economy airlines, she’s flown business class, she’s flown across the country with two cats.
The older two have successfully managed work trips without my supervision. They’ve Ubered and Lyfted and even old-school taxied. They have passports and Apple Pay and common sense.
And yet, anytime they come home, I feel compelled to micromanage their travel plans.
“Have you checked to make sure your flight’s on time?”
“Did you see what the weather’s doing in the Midwest?”
“Do you know what kind of plane you’re on this time?”
This, despite the fact that I don’t know a 747 from a prop plane.
Two weeks ago, our college kid, our baby, flew into New York City by herself, i.e., High Anxiety Alert for Mom. She’s been there before, but never without an adult on hand. I had visions of a little lost girl wandering around LaGuardia sobbing, unable to find anyone to help her.
“She’s 19; she can handle this,” said my husband. “Besides, she’s familiar with the city.”
Our daughter didn’t seem overly worried. And she knows how to play the game of “Calm Mom Down.” She dutifully texted me when she was through security. In line to get a coffee. At the gate.
I heard from her once she was seated on the plane (accompanied by a selfie for extra reassurance). Then when she landed. Once again when she met up with her roommate so they could take the subway into the city to meet another friend.
The weird thing is I’m normally not a freaking-out-over-small-things kind of mom. When my kids are far away from me — whether it’s at college or making a new life in a new city — I’m not overly worried. I know they are capable human beings and besides, there’s not much I can do to help from thousands of miles away.
But when a flight looms, I dissolve into a trembling mass of mom jelly.
The night before they leave, I’m up every hour checking the time. The flight schedule. The weather.
We leave for the airport much earlier than we need to — just in case. I remind them to drink lots of water (airplanes are dehydrating!) I ask (repeatedly) if they have ID and e-tickets at the ready — and willfully ignore the eye rolls.
This weekend, however, the tables will be turned. I’m flying to Chicago to visit my son. No anxiety whatsoever on my part.
But I’m going to text him anyway, once I’m through security. And maybe again at the gate. Once more when I’m seated.
I don’t want the kid worrying about me, after all.
Charlotte is a columnist for The Times. You can reach her at charlottelatvala@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Beaver County Times: Latvala: Flights of anxiety rise at airports
