#29: Aging into Irrationality

My parents are smart, well-educated people. But as they hit their fifties and sixties, they started having fearful views on flying. They’re both still frequent flyers and not afraid of flying per se, but they became very particular about which airlines and planes are “safe” and which aren’t. When the Boeing 737 Max safety debacle happened, they were drumming about it for weeks – talking about never flying Boeing again – even though boarding the 737 Max was still obviously statistically safer than driving, or crossing the street. They understood the stats, but somehow emotion had them gripped tight.1

I found it strange to see my parents become irrationally afraid over the years. But as I’ve become older, I’ve begun to see hints of the same in me.

Two years ago, I became afraid of heights. I’m not sure why. It happened almost overnight. Before, I could walk over bridges with thin railings and steep drops, sit on chairlifts of absurd heights, and dance on forty-storieth balconies. These days, the same scenarios put me in an anxious panic. That feels very weird: for most of my life, I’ve been in control of my emotions, generally unafraid of anything. And all of a sudden, mid-way through being 28, deep anxiety over heights starts dictating how I live my life.

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