Fear of flying

I've never identified myself as a person afraid of flying; so far from me that i made effort to separate myself even further from those people.
Up high above an endless field of thick clouds, one solid mass, I see in the distance a tiny version of an airplane. It seems like it's only a couple hundred feet away, yet it's barely visible. I imagine the hundred-some people inside, the massive force that the steel structure appears to be to them, to those insde, those reliant on this object for protection.
I am humbled.
Humbled by clouds, by sheer mass and the realization of tiny-ness.
My heart soars as I struggle to maintain visual contact with the plane in the distance as it slides smoothly over the sea of clouds. I am one with the thrill of flying, I am shedding the unimaginableyet common feeling that views flying as a chore, an efficient mode of transport, a wasted day. I am returning to the root of it, the magic of it, the gratefulness for my life and my world.
And I feel connected with those who fear flying: at least they tap into the reality of the experience, avoiding the numbness that modern-day life has instilled in us. At least they realize what our bodies are physically doing, experiencing, where we are, the height of it, the speed, the celestial nature of it all.