…just ask Frank Oz.
Because of my fear, I started up a pretty serious ritual of very specific things I’d have to do in order to get on a plane.
This used to include a fair amount of prescription pills and booze (to be read: I should probably be dead), but it also included talking to the pilots before takeoff, carrying a long list of “good luck” items in my pockets, and wearing the same t-shirt and boxers on every single flight.
If you were ever on a plane with me from 2006 through this year, I was wearing this t-shirt and these boxer shorts.
No shit. I wore those same two articles of clothing (obviously, along with a few other items) on every single flight for the last nine years.
My wife and I took a shitload of flights during that time: Germany (four times); Poland; Czech Republic; France; Thailand; South Korea; Hong Kong; Turkey; Belgium, and Hungary, and that’s not even including all of the flights we took within the States. And on each and every one of those flights, I was wearing my Mickey Mouse t-shirt and my strongman boxers.
A couple weeks ago, I flew back to L.A. for meetings… without wearing either of them. Just like the prescription meds, booze, and talking to the pilots before takeoff, I’ve been able to let go of yet another aspect of my ritual.
Though I do still carry a few items in my pocket for good luck. Someday, maybe that will change, too.
The elastic on the boxers was failing,