There are some people in this world who can walk into an airport without a worry in the world. These people probably fly decently often, or at least enough to feel confident with the process. I am not one of these people. Instead, I have overwhelming anxiety about literally everything.

My first solo flying experience was an interesting one. To top it all off, it was taking place at the end of the worst and most stressful week that I had endured in a while. I was sick with an upper respiratory infection, was gasping for air between school assignments, and had pulled an all nighter the night before. To add some sprinkles to that delightful treat, I had also developed pink eye.

So here I am, a diseased bag of sh*t staggering into the tiny Eastern Iowa Airport with my luggage. My voice sounded like that of a serial cigarette smoker who just swallowed some sandpaper, and my eyes were so bloodshot that they resembled Seth Rogen's at any given time. I was a hot mess. I only say hot because I was literally sweating. Apparently that happens when your body gives up on you? It just sweats for no reason. Anyway, I was looking like a serious flight risk by the time I got to security.

Here I encountered an older guy with black and gray ombre hair. I only messed up once here, which isn't at all impressive because there is only one step. I handed him my boarding pass, but not my drivers license. He said to me, "I know where you're going, but I don't know who you are." I laughed awkwardly before realizing that he was trying to politely ask for my identification.

Next I got to that weird part of security where you're supposed to throw all of your belongings into tubs and remove your shoes. They make it extra fun by giving you exactly 5 seconds to do all of this. Somehow my shoes got separated and my purse was confiscated because I forgot I had a water bottle in it. So there I was, standing with only one shoe on, while an 89 year old man inspected my unopened Aquafina to make sure it wasn't explosive.

He returned my shoe at least, and I was on my way. I already had anxiety about this trip because I only had 50 minutes of time in Minneapolis to board my connecting flight as it was. Then, naturally, my first flight was 30 minutes late. I finally got on the plane, and was relieved to find that my seat buddy was an older gentleman, who didn't take up too much space horizontally and who I strongly suspected was a U.S Air Marshal. I don't know why I suspected this, but I did. I was pleased by my assumption and also pleased by his choice of cologne. I was also happy that I had a window seat. My favorite part of flying is take-off. I wish I could sit in a plane with a never ending runway and just go as fast as possible. I know I sound like Ricky Bobby, but there's just nothing more satisfying than accelerating to those speeds.

Just as I was comfortably lost in thought, a loud scream pierced through my ears. I was expecting the obvious Air Marshal beside me to act fast, but then I realized that it was just the tiny Asian child screaming behind me. The only thing worse than a child screaming is a child screaming in a language you don't understand. I'm convinced that her parents told her that what she was doing was cute and appropriate, because she continued to do it sporadically throughout the entire flight. I remember being so pleased when the child's ears popped and she finally shut up. (this was in English, she said "ear hurt").Luckily, it was only 40 minutes, or I might have been arrested by my seat buddy for assaulting a child.

Somehow the good Lord put my arrival and departure gates right next to each other, so a potential disaster was eliminated.

Once on my second flight I was seated in the exact same seat, 4A. Another window seat, and another old man as a seat buddy. This one was not as impressive, and I knew he wasn't an Air Marshal. I got a wild hair, and decided to try to make conversation. I said, "Where are you headed?" I hate myself. Did I mention I hadn't slept? He looked a me like I was stupid, because I am. "Minot." He said, obviously displeased with who I was as a human being. I didn't try to speak to him again.

He seemed like the type that probably hates millennials, and is convinced that everything we do is motivated by either laziness or pure evil. Realizing that he probably already hated me from the start, even before I asked the stupidest question on planet earth, I was less devastated when I woke up from an accidental nap with my mouth hanging wide open and him gawking at me.

My knees also ached because the barbarian in front of me felt the need to recline his seat. When it wouldn't go back any further he just body slammed it until he was satisfied.

A huge positive for this flight was that there was an angel on board. It was a small one, and it was wearing a yellow vest. It said, "Service Dog". I wanted to touch it, but you're not supposed to touch these particular angels. Her owner said she was "a licker", and I said "same", but I don't know why I said this. I don't think that I lick more than an average person.

I was so ready to be done with this flight. We finally landed, and I was able to retrieve my luggage pretty quickly. I made my way outside to find that the temperature was cold, and there was very tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. My mom was waiting, extremely excited to see me, and despite my appearance, she greeted me with a tight hug and an awkward cheek kiss.

Overall, I survived my first experience flying alone. I am excited to do it again when I return home. Next step: Successfully fly to another country, defy the language barrier, and live to tell about it.