Started flying alone at age nine after my parents divorced in 1971, Oakland to LAX, about once every six weeks until I was 18. I'd leave school early on Fridays and return Sunday night or Monday morning. If my father had a business trip, he'd sometimes fly me to wherever he was, usually in the Western US. It was fun but I always had to have a fresh haircut and get dressed up. Didn't experience any scary flights, but one time I ended up on a plane to Portland, OR by accident. Two flights were boarding at the same time in the same boarding area. The United crew was a bit freaked but treated my like a prince. I ended up having to continue to Seattle to catch a flight to LA.
After college I flew for work about four times a year and once or twice for vacations, usually to foreign countries. The worst flight was on a PanAm 747 SFO-Paris on my first trip to Europe when we encountered turbulence in the middle of diner service. They still used real china, glasses, and silverware back then. Plates and luggage went flying everywhere. The O2 masks did not come down. After deregulation, airfares were cheaper, but flights became crowded and seats shrank. Longer flights became stressful.
As I got older, I accumulated a lot of miles on United, which had/has a virtual monopoly at SFO. Frequent Flyer programs were more generous back then. For overseas and transcon flights, I was often able to upgrade to Business Class. I became spoiled quickly. I'd have a drink or two with the meal, and then sleep the rest of the flight, then spend the trip almost jet lag-free.
For the last ten years of my career, I was based in SF and worked for a company with headquarters in SoCal. I flew down there at least once a month. Had to travel down on Sundays and be perky for Monday morning meetings, usually returning on Wednesday evenings for work on Thursday mornings. At first the routine reminded me of visiting my father. I grew tired of ruined weekends, being away from home, and LA in general. I was also traveling to conferences. My elderly cats hated me.
Six years ago, I randomly ended up in a long-distance relationship with my future husband, who lived in Boston. I flew back there at first 4-5 times a year, then 3 times a year after I'd had enough of Winter. Partner came to see me about 5 times a year. We both got JetBlue credit cards and built up a lot of mile for free trips. We each encountered weather delays, but it was nothing horrible. At one point, I was exhausted from travel and had a panic attack. I forgot I was supposed to meet him in DC for a trip to Rehoboth Beach and tried to get on a flight to Boston.
Transcon flights during COVID were awesome. Planes were empty and first class was only a few hundred dollars more.
Partner and I have since married and retired together. In a few weeks, we're flying back to New England to see his family for the first time in two years. He has to take Ativan to get on a plane. I've been trying to get him to go to Europe and Asia, but it's always met with resistance. He's only been outside the US twice. We may end up taking a cruise, the thought of which disgusts me. He thinks he wants to take a Disney cruise, the thought of which disgusts me even further.