He remembered the first time that he had really been afraid. He was no more than four years old at the time. His father had taken him and several of his siblings for a walk. On the way back they had to pass over a long, high bridge. The guardrails were made of cement and they had a pattern of cutout designs the whole length of the bridge that allowed you to look through to see the water below. Still, his father decided that his four-year-old son needed a better look, so he picked him up and stood him on top of the cement guardrail.

As the young boy glanced over the edge, he experienced a most unpleasant sensation. Fear welled up in him. He could feel himself slipping out of his father’s grasp. His imagination created a horrifying image of him plummeting through the air and plunging to the water, so far below. Sensing the trembling, small body in his hands, his father realized that this was not such a good idea after all and returned his traumatized son to the safety of the concrete sidewalk. It took quite a while for his little boy’s shaken emotions to return to normal.

As he grew into young adulthood, he experienced several instances that mimicked somewhat his early childhood fear of falling, but they had a bizarre twist to them. When he found himself near the edge of a tall building or a precipitous cliff, he experienced not just a pure fear of falling, but rather a conflicted state. To be sure, one part of the conflict was his old fear of falling. That always came first. But a second, more disturbing reaction, then followed. He felt the urge to leap out into the air, to spread his wings, and to fly. For an instant he really believed that he could. In the end his fear would eventually triumph, and he would back away a safe distance from the danger.

And then one day he did fly. He was not out on a ledge or anything. He was just standing out in the middle of a field somewhere. He began to flap his arms, slowly, then a little harder. Surprisingly, it did not require a lot of effort. Soon, he looked down and noticed that his feet were completely off the ground. He was not astonished by this amazing feat of skill. A big part of him had always known that he could fly. Only his fear of falling had held him back.

After hovering above the ground for a while, he decided to test the limits of his newfound skill. He added a series of flutter kicks to his arm-flapping and thrilled as he watched himself soar into the clouds above. And, then, the aerial acrobatics began. He liked to climb to a nice altitude and then just wing over into a medium-angled dive. He really enjoyed the tingling sensation of the rushing air on his face. His chest swelled with pride.

Then came an annoying sound. It just would not go away. It seemed to be some kind of music. He usually liked to listen to music, but this time it was different. He hated this music. It was sapping his strength. He was losing altitude. The music was pulling him down, back down to earth. He resisted. He flapped his arms harder and harder. He put all of his energy into his kicks, trying to stay aloft, but it was no use. He woke up anyway.

Flying in an airplane is not quite the same as sprouting wings of your own, but it is the best that reality has to offer. In this case, bigger was not better for him. Commercial airliners tended to revive his 4-year-old’s fear of falling.

“Something as big as this really was not meant to leave the ground,” he would muse to himself as he ordered another martini.

He did not have any of those fears when he flew in the back seat of a little, military Cessna. The big, overhead wings and the constant hum of the engine were much more reassuring. Knowing the pilot helped, too. He had earned his wings as an artillery aerial observer the summer before. He had even spent a few minutes at the controls. Now, while the rest of his unit was sweating it out on the stifling desert floor below, he was enjoying the cool comfort of the wild blue yonder. That is until…

Without warning, the aircraft fell out from under him, snapping his head back sharply. He was looking up through the plexi-glass of the canopy at the under carriage of a high performance aircraft. Somehow it had strayed out of its assigned bombing area into theirs. He had never been so close to that type of aircraft before. He saw it in vivid, close-up detail. He still does. It was so close he could almost each out and touch it. It was gone in an instant. It took a lot longer for him to start breathing again and for his pulse to return to normal.

He was flying again. This time he was wideawake, and he knew that he was not going to leave the ground. He was just pretending. The carmaker had designed the driver’s compartment to simulate the cockpit of an aircraft. The compact dimensions of the car reminded him of the good feelings of being inside the Cessna. The ergonomically engineered bucket seats, instrument panel, center console, and gearshift lever all added to the illusion. It was a small car, but it had enough power and pick up to get him out of tight spots on the freeway. That became very important the day that he met and was challenged by the rogue semi driver.

“Left lane closed ahead”, is what the sign said.

It did not say, “Now”.

It said, “Ahead.”

There was a good mile of road between that first warning sign and the place where the orange traffic cones forced the left lane traffic over into the right lane. He never understood why so many drivers chose to pull over into the right lane immediately af-ter seeing the warning sign.

He remained in the left lane and drove on toward the merger point. As he was about to pass one particular semi, it swerved sharply into his lane, blocking his path completely. He nearly put his brake foot through the floor to stop in time. The semi driver straddled both lanes for a while and then eased back over into his own lane.

He tried to pass again. Again, the semi driver managed to block his lane. The game was not going well. However, when he tried to pass a third time, a small, red sports car on his right took the opportunity to pass the semi on its right. The semi driver reacted too late to block the red car. That gave him the opening he needed to speed on by the semi on its left.

Victory! He was flying free again.