Confession: I used to be terrified of flying. Once, as I was getting buckled into my seat for a one-and-a-half-hour direct flight to Salt Lake City, the pilot started talking over the intercom. “We’re going to have to make a stop in Wyoming to get more fuel for the plane,” he said matter-of-factly. “It shouldn’t delay us too much.”

That was enough to send me into panic. What if there wasn’t enough fuel to get to Wyoming? My heartbeat tripled; the anti-anxiety medication I’d taken before the flight couldn’t calm me. I knew the plane would go down with me in it. I called for the flight attendant and demanded to be removed from the plane. I remember talking on the phone with my dad afterward. His words were wise: “Honey, when it’s your time, it’s your time. You have to live your life.”

A year after that flight incident, my dad was suddenly diagnosed with cancer and died a few weeks later. His words echoed in my head, “When it’s your time, it’s your time…” I knew he was right. I had always wanted to see New York City, and I wasn’t going to let my fear stop me. I signed up for a writer’s conference in Manhattan, and I booked my plane ticket on Expedia. It was too expensive for my husband to come with me. I decided this was the ideal time to prove my strength. This time, I didn’t even take my anxiety medication. I finally understood that life is too short to be afraid; it was like a switch went off inside me. This time, I was a perfect flyer. Now, I love to travel, both solo and with my husband. I keep my dad’s words close to my heart to comfort me.