Mark Pagán combats his phobia of flying in an unusual way.

Mark Pagán is an award-winning storyteller, comedian, multimedia artist, and writer best known for his humorous autobiographical and documentary vignettes for stage, television, online, screenings, print, and installation. His work and performances have been shown at festivals worldwide including Slamdance Film Festival, PBS, Arizona International Film Festival, Maryland Film Festival, Rooftop Film Festival, North Carolina Comedy Arts Festival, Chicago Improv Festival, Del Close Marathon, Philadelphia Improv Festival, and the Charleston Comedy Festival.

This story originally aired Feb. 17, 2017.

Story Transcript

In my experience, old men from foreign countries like to talk to me in public. I think it's because I can pass for like seventy-two percent of the world's population. I'm short and dark, and they look at me, they're like, "He understands my worldview.”

It happens like once a week. I'll be at the deli and the guy will say, "Where are you from?" and I'll say, "I'm Latino", and he'll go, "No,” and I'm like, "What do you mean no?" and he goes, "I'm from Yemen. We're brothers,” and I'm like, "That's great. Yeah, we can do that.” It’s actually really nice because I have this global fraternity of swarthy men, and it comes in handy.

A while back, I'm on the F train, and the doors open, and this guy, he's like the winner of Mr. Old World. He just has this beaten-up linen suit and this fedora that's from a town that probably doesn't exist anymore. And I know exactly what's going to happen. The train is empty and he sits right next to me.

He's Slavic, and he just launches in the mid-conversation and he just, [imitates foreign language] and I just nod. I'm a nice guy so I just let him finish whatever he's saying. Then I say, "I speak English,” and he goes, "Oh, oh, Manhattan?" and I go, "Yeah, yeah. This is going to Manhattan,” and I go back to what I was doing.

What I doing was what I call lap reading, and I know there's a number of you that also do this. It's when you are reading something that you're embarrassed about in public, and so you put it in your lap, so that nobody can see the cover and you read from there. He does what all lap readers fear, and he just lifts the cover to see what I'm reading, and he reads out the main title and he goes, "Eh soar, soar,” like an eagle, and I just nod.

I'm afraid he's going want me to explain to him what the other words in the page, and what the book is about, and I'm going to have to say, "Yes, Soar. Conquering your fear of flying. I am afraid of flying,” and he's going to go, "Ah! A book, a pussy,” and I'm going to go, "You got that right, got that right.” Doesn't happen. A few stops later, he gets off and he just tips his fedora and he goes, "Soar, soar!" and he leaves me with me and my secret.

I had a privileged upbringing. From a very early age, I started flying with the family; I went to go see family in the Caribbean. My father worked abroad most of the year, so it was never an issue. But about eight years ago, I sat down on a flight and I said to myself, "This could crash,” and then that subsequently turned into, "This will crash,” and that started happening, that mental space for every single flight. 

Once the doors would close on flights, I'd go into high-alert status. I would just wait for anything that I thought was irregular, which is usually turbulence. When I felt the first bump, my amygdala goes, "Did you feel that? What was that?" and I would say, "I don't know.” Then I would feel another bump, and the amygdala would say, "Is anybody else freaking out here?" and I go, "No,” and my amygdala would say, "That's a conspiracy. They all know.”

"Do you have an exit strategy?" I'm like, "I can't get out of a plane,” and then amygdala would say, "Well, let's see if there's another bump.” There would be another bump and then like, "We have to do something,” and then there would just be diarrhea and lots of cold sweat.  I was like, This is really, really awful. This is awful.”

I tried tons of things. Friends would give me Xanax. I tried meditation. I’d do this thing where I'd just stay up the night before a flight, and I was like, "I will just pass out on the flight.” I get up there and it would just be panic with a lot of yawning, that's it. That's all that would happen. I did some research and I found out about this book. ... I'm not here to sell you this book today, guys, but I am a connoisseur of the self-help world and this is my Orchid Thief. It is. Soar is some shit guys, it is so good.

It's written by Captain Tom Bunn; he's an ex-captain. He's now a clinical therapist. One of the eye-opening things in this whole thing is that he talks about this anti-anxiety hormone called oxytocin. This is released between a mother nursing her infant; foreplay; sex; joyful moments like your wedding or for some of us, divorce. It's important because it inhibits the amygdala from releasing stress hormones. My amygdala is very charitable with stress hormones.

I'm like, "I got to figure out what to do here,” and he suggests this amazing technique, where he calls it empathic attunement. You pick a moment from your life -- a brief memory, where you felt really connected with somebody -- and you overlay that memory on top of any of the triggers. For instance, thinking about turbulence, thinking about going to the airport, you take that memory and you just condition your body to respond to the stimuli with this oxytocin.

One of the problems is, all I can think about in terms of memories are ex-girlfriends, and I don't want to be on a flight and think of something doomed and just have an ex-girlfriend on my mind. So I'm having a hard time with this, and this Slavic guy comes into my head saying, "Soar!” and it's like this Obi-Wan moment of like, "Dig deeper!"

I think about it and I'm like, "Oh, my dad was an old foreign man,” and I have this memory, and this happened a lot with him, but this one time I remember, I was about twelve years old and I went upstairs just to say goodnight. My dad engulfed me and he kissed me on the cheek, and I could feel the bristles from his beard and I just took it in, just inhaled all this Old Spice cologne. I remember this and I go, "Oh my god! Old foreign men are my nurturers!”

If you got some hairy arms and a good hug, you're my squad. Love it. It works. That was dad, my dad was -- he's not around anymore -- but he was my safe space, and I'm like, "Oh, this is good, we're going to work with this.” I start doing the exercise, and I do it at home at night. This is really cheesy to admit.

I do it at home at night, and part of the exercise is I put my hand over my heart, and I replay this memory of my dad with this audio recording of Capt. Tom Bunn talking about the triggers. So "Think of going to the airport,” and I think, Think of that hug, think of that hug, think of that hug. “Think about the door closing in the airplane.” Think of that hug, think of that hug, think of that hug.” I'm doing this, and nine times out of ten, I fall asleep in my bed, and I'm like, Great, this is probably working, but I'm not on a plane, I have no idea, so I'm like, Let's put this into action.

Now, for five years or so, I've only been taking regional flights, like two-hour flights. High alert, totally panicked. I'm like, "We're going back old school, man. We're going to do this international.” So I get in touch with a friend who lives very internationally, and I book a direct flight from JFK to Johannesburg. If you guys remember what the map looks like, that's seventeen hours, the majority of which is over the Atlantic Ocean.

I book the flight, and I swear to God, I said, "We're going on a trip, Dad.” I'm not proud to say it, but come on, it did happen, and then immediately I was like, What did I do, what did I do, what did I do? I'm going to have to be honest; I called the airline three times seeing if I could reschedule it like, "Is there any chance that the flight might get cancelled?” Meanwhile Slavic Obi-Wan just kept showing up going, "Soar, soar, soar!”

The day comes and I go to JFK, and I buy myself a New York Times. I've never read a New York Times cover to cover, but I'm like, "This should take seventeen hours to do, so maybe that'll take care of everything.” I get on and the door to the airplane closes.  I go, Open up the newspaper. We get up in the air, and I'm flying.

Few hours later, I hear a "ding!" and our captain gets on and goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, we got news that there might be some bumps up ahead, so I'm going to put on the seat belt sign and I want to make sure everybody gets back to their seats until we get through this.”

My amygdala goes, "Did you hear that?" and I go, "Hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug," and started thinking about that. A few moments later, there's the first bump, and my amygdala goes, "Did you feel that?" and I go, "Hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug.” Second bump, "Did you feel that?" "Hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug.” Third bump, "Hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug.” Now I can't tell you guys, how many bumps we hit, or how long the turbulence lasted for because eventually I fell asleep. Thank you.