Work Smarts: What CEOs Say You Need To Know to Get Ahead

Chapter 6

Fear

People who know me well know I hate to fly.

Apparently, according to a survey by Boeing dating back to 1980 (surveys on fear of flying are very sparse), about a third of Americans hate to fly, too.

I have no real justification. I have never been in a near-death experience on a plane (knock on wood). The worst experience was one I missed. In 1983, my family was scheduled to be on the same Korean Airlines plane that got shot down by Soviet missiles.

The Boeing 747 had been on its way from New York to Seoul when it strayed into forbidden Soviet airspace. Luckily, my parents had changed their minds about the trip a few weeks before.

Every time a plane takes off, I stare at the flight attendants. If they look calm, I feel calm. And usually they are. One time I was in a tiny commuter plane from New York to Philadelphia—the kind with one row of seats on one side and two on the other. The space was so tight that when the flight attendant was sitting in his jump seat, he was practically on our laps. Before takeoff, he closed the door by propping his right foot on the side wall and pulling the door in repeatedly until it squeezed shut—like what you do when you’re pulling an overstuffed suitcase through a too-small hole. Then the flight attendant smoothed over the duct tape that was all over the door, apparently meant to plug up any cracks. The condition of the door made me turn to the passenger next to me, a young Indian man, whose eyes grew big and mouth let out a little ...