Understandably some people are afraid to fly. The idea of many tons of airplane actually getting up to thirty thousand feet in the air is mind boggling. Then to nonchalantly cruise for thousands of miles through clouds or storms or sunlight seems more like an Alice in Wonderland adventure. But to believe that the tonnage can pinpoint a place among thousands of acres of real estate - missing trees, lakes and buildings - to land with a few puny donuts of rubber under it on a two hundred foot wide strip of tarmac stretches the mind beyond trust. Yet thousands continue to fly daily.

I booked my annual flight from Seattle to Washington DC. I have never been afraid to fly and am still not afraid of the idea of flying. However, somewhere along the line since September 11, 2002, a fear has been inflicted upon me although my President encourages me to go on living as usual. I'm supposed to be afraid of terrorists everywhere but go on as usual.

I don't think so.

Nothing about my life is as usual any more. I'm to be suspicious of the motives of those around me, expecting attacks? Because of federally imposed rules my airline ticket price is doubled. Before boarding, my person is violated. I must remove most of my outer clothes, belts, and shoes to go through check-in or hold up the line with a hand wand check.

And if there is the slightest doubt or concern that my plane is being hijacked, I and my co-passengers will be shot down by my own country's fighter planes.

I'll admit to being more than a little apprehensive.