essay about my first time on a plane

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My First Time Going On a Plane

My heart was pounding as I walked through the doors of the Jacksonville airport. My sister had called me and invited me to come to Florida two weeks before. Walking through the automatic doors I enter the airport for the first time on my own. My fear was overwhelming as I got closer and closer. I got up that morning to make sure that my bag was all packed for the trip. I walked out the garage door to go to my mom’s work. Mom and I got in to her’s silver Aspen and we drove to her work. When we got to my mom’s work I went in to her office and went to lie down on her couch to take a short nap. So when I woke up it was time to go to the airport I was clutching to my bag as I walked up to the counter to get my ticket. I had to wait in line to get my ticket and then get my bag checked. I was thankful to have my dad with me because he helped me calm down. Dad and I sat down to wait for the boarding call. Then I heard it “flight 395 to Atlanta, George is now boarding.” After I handed this little old man, my ticket I got on the plane. The flight attendant, who was wearing a blue dress with a red bow, said,” Welcome aboard flight 395 to Atlanta.” I sat down and I thought that I was going to be sitting by myself but then this man come and sat right beside me and fell asleep. He was like in his 30’s. There were two kids that sat beside me in the other seats on the other side of aisle. The engines roared as I got more and more scared. The plane started to move down the run way. My hands started to shake as the plane got faster and faster down the runway. So then finally we were in the air and that’s when I calmed down. One hour and fifteen minutes later I was on the ground. When I landed in Atlanta I realized I was going to have to do it all over again. I had to wait till everyone was off the plane for me to get off, and then run quickly to catch my next flight. Even though I was nervous I still got through it. If I do go on a another trip in an air planes I wont be nervous.

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Essay on First Time Flying On A Plane

Students are often asked to write an essay on First Time Flying On A Plane in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on First Time Flying On A Plane

Getting ready for the trip.

Before flying, you pack your bags and get a ticket. It’s exciting to choose what to bring. You must also check the weight of your luggage because planes have limits.

Arriving at the Airport

At the airport, you show your ticket and ID. Then, your bags are taken to put on the plane. Security checks make sure everyone is safe. It’s a busy place with many people.

Boarding the Plane

When it’s time, you go to your gate and get on the plane. Finding your seat is fun. The plane has rows of seats with numbers and letters.

The Takeoff

The engines roar, and the plane speeds up. You feel a push as the plane lifts into the sky. Looking out the window, everything gets smaller.

Above the clouds, it’s peaceful. You can eat, watch movies, or look out the window. The flight attendants are there to help you.

The plane descends and lands on a runway. It feels bumpy. After landing, you wait to leave the plane and get your bags. It’s an adventure you’ll remember.

250 Words Essay on First Time Flying On A Plane

Getting ready for the flight.

When you fly on a plane for the first time, it’s like going on an adventure. Before you go to the airport, you pack your bags with clothes and other important things you need. You must also make sure you have your ticket, which tells you where your seat is on the plane.

At the Airport

Airports are big places with lots of people. You show your ticket and ID at a counter and give them your suitcase. They put a tag on it so it goes to the same place you do. After that, you go through security where they check you don’t have anything dangerous.

Waiting to Board

Next, you find your gate. This is where you wait until they tell you it’s time to get on the plane. You can watch other planes take off and land while you wait. It’s exciting to think that soon you’ll be in the sky too.

When you finally sit in your seat on the plane, you might feel nervous or excited. The plane speeds up on the runway and then lifts off the ground. It’s a strange feeling as you go higher and everything on the ground looks smaller.

Once the plane is up in the sky, you can relax. You might eat a snack, read a book, or look out the window. The clouds look like fluffy pillows from up there. Flying for the first time is a special experience that you will always remember.

500 Words Essay on First Time Flying On A Plane

Imagine you’re about to do something you have never done before. You’re excited and maybe a little nervous. That’s how I felt when I was getting ready for my first airplane trip. Before the day of the flight, I had to pack my bag. I put in clothes, a toothbrush, and my favorite book to read. My parents helped me check that we had tickets and our passports. We also checked the weight of our bags to make sure they weren’t too heavy.

On the day of the flight, we drove to the airport. Airports are big places with lots of people and shops. We went to a counter where a friendly person checked our tickets and took our bags to put on the plane. Then we went through security. This is where they make sure you don’t have anything dangerous. I had to take off my shoes and put my backpack through a machine that looked inside it.

Waiting for Boarding

After security, we waited in a large area with lots of seats. This is called the gate. There were big windows where I could see planes taking off and landing. It was fun to watch. They made announcements over a loudspeaker when it was time to get on our plane. We lined up with our boarding passes, which are like special tickets to get on the plane.

Getting on the Plane

Walking down the jet bridge felt like an adventure. It’s like a hallway that connects the gate to the plane. When I stepped onto the plane, a flight attendant smiled and said hello. I found my seat, which had a belt to buckle up, just like in a car. The seat was next to a small window, and I could see the wings of the plane.

The most exciting part was the takeoff. The engines roared, and the plane moved faster and faster until, gently, we lifted into the sky. Outside my window, everything got smaller. Houses looked like tiny boxes, and cars were like little toys. My ears felt funny as we went higher, but chewing gum helped.

Once we were high in the sky, things felt calm. The flight attendants walked around and gave us snacks and drinks. I could walk to the bathroom if I needed to. I spent most of the time looking out the window at the clouds and reading my book.

After a while, the captain said we were going to land. The plane slowly went down, and I felt a little heavy in my seat. When the wheels touched the ground, there was a big noise, but it was safe. The plane slowed down and finally stopped at another gate.

After the Flight

We got off the plane and went to a place called baggage claim. This is where we waited for our bags to come out on a big moving belt. Once we had our bags, we walked through the airport to where our trip really began.

Flying on a plane for the first time was an adventure I will never forget. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, but now I can say that I have traveled in the sky, and it was wonderful.

That’s it! I hope the essay helped you.

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Essay on My First Time on a Plane

Stepping onto an aeroplane for the first time was a moment filled with excitement, anticipation, and a hint of nervousness. It marked the beginning of an adventure and the realization of a dream. This essay will delve into my experience of my first time on a plane and the mix of emotions and impressions that accompanied this milestone.

As I made my way through the bustling airport, the sight of the massive aircraft waiting on the tarmac filled me with awe. The size and majesty of the plane seemed almost surreal, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the thought of boarding this magnificent machine that would take me soaring through the sky. The sound of engines humming in the background added to the anticipation building within me.

Stepping into the cabin, I was greeted by flight attendants with warm smiles and a sense of professionalism. Their friendly demeanour immediately put me at ease and reassured me that I was in safe hands. Finding my seat, I settled into the comfortable surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the cabin. The neatly arranged rows of seats, the overhead compartments, and the small, foldable trays in front of each seat created an atmosphere of organization and efficiency.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I could feel the vibration of the engines and the subtle acceleration. The moment of takeoff was a blend of exhilaration and nervousness. The sensation of the plane lifting off the ground, defying gravity, and ascending into the vast expanse of the sky was both thrilling and surreal. I held my breath, mesmerized by the sight of the ground shrinking below, giving way to a panoramic view of the world unfolding before my eyes.

Once airborne, I marvelled at the breathtaking views outside the window. The fluffy white clouds seemed within reach, and the vastness of the sky stretched endlessly in every direction. The experience of being so high above the ground, with cities and landscapes reduced to miniature versions below, evoked a sense of perspective and wonder. It was as if I had entered a new realm, disconnected from the worries and routines of everyday life.

During the flight, I was introduced to the exceptional service provided by the cabin crew. Their attentiveness, professionalism, and dedication to ensuring the comfort and safety of every passenger were evident in every interaction. From the welcoming smiles to the distribution of meals and beverages, they went above and beyond to create a pleasant and enjoyable journey for everyone on board. Their commitment to customer satisfaction left a lasting impression on me.

As the plane began its descent, the feeling of anticipation returned, mingled with a touch of sadness that the flight was coming to an end. The smooth touchdown brought a sense of relief and accomplishment. Stepping off the plane, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the opportunity to experience air travel and the wonder of flight.

My first time on a plane was an unforgettable experience that left a profound impact on me. It opened up a world of possibilities, instilling in me a desire to explore new destinations, embrace different cultures, and embark on new adventures. The excitement, awe, and sense of liberation that accompanied that flight have remained with me, fueling my passion for travel and igniting a curiosity to discover what lies beyond the horizons.

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Watch CBS News

Solar eclipse maps show 2024 totality path, peak times and how much of the eclipse you can see across the U.S. today

By Aliza Chasan

Updated on: April 8, 2024 / 12:06 PM EDT / CBS News

A total solar eclipse crosses North America today, with parts of 15 U.S. states within the path of totality. Maps show where and when astronomy fans can see the big event  as skies darken in the middle of the day on Monday, April 8.

The total eclipse will first appear along Mexico's Pacific Coast at around 11:07 a.m. PDT, then travel across a swath of the U.S., from Texas to Maine, and into Canada.

About 31.6 million people live in the path of totality , the area where the moon will fully block out the sun , according to NASA. The path will range between 108 and 122 miles wide. An additional 150 million people live within 200 miles of the path of totality.

Solar eclipse path of totality map for 2024

The total solar eclipse will start over the Pacific Ocean, and the first location in continental North America that will experience totality is Mexico's Pacific Coast, around 11:07 a.m. PDT on April 8, according to NASA. From there, the path will continue into Texas, crossing more than a dozen states before the eclipse enters Canada in southern Ontario. The eclipse will exit continental North America around 5:16 p.m. NDT from Newfoundland, Canada.

The path of totality includes portions of the following states:

• Pennsylvania
• New Hampshire

Small parts of Tennessee and Michigan will also experience the total solar eclipse.

Several major cities across the U.S. are included in the eclipse's path of totality, while many others will see a partial eclipse. Here are some of the best major cities for eclipse viewing — if the weather cooperates :

• San Antonio, Texas (partially under the path)
• Austin, Texas
• Waco, Texas
• Dallas, Texas
• Little Rock, Arkansas
• Indianapolis, Indiana
• Dayton, Ohio
• Cleveland, Ohio
• Buffalo, New York
• Rochester, New York
• Syracuse, New York
• Burlington, Vermont

Map of when the solar eclipse will reach totality across the path

The eclipse will begin in the U.S. as a partial eclipse beginning at 12:06 p.m. CDT near Eagle Pass, Texas, before progressing to totality by about 1:27 p.m. CDT and then moving along its path to the northeast over the next few hours.

NASA shared times for several cities in the path of totality across the U.S. You can also  check your ZIP code on NASA's map  to see when the eclipse will reach you if you're on, or near, the path of totality — or if you'll see a partial eclipse instead.

How much of the eclipse will you see if you live outside of the totality path?

While the April 8 eclipse will cover a wide swath of the U.S., outside the path of totality observers may spot a partial eclipse, where the moon covers some, but not all, of the sun, according to NASA. The closer you are to the path of totality, the larger the portion of the sun that will be hidden.

NASA allows viewers to input a ZIP code and see how much of the sun will be covered in their location.

Could there be cloud cover be during the solar eclipse?

Some areas along the path of totality have a higher likelihood of cloud cover that could interfere with viewing the eclipse. Here is a map showing the historical trends in cloud cover this time of year. 

You can check the latest forecast for your location with our partners at The Weather Channel .

Where will the solar eclipse reach totality for the longest?

Eclipse viewers near Torreón, Mexico, will get to experience totality for the longest. Totality there will last 4 minutes, 28 seconds, according to NASA. 

Most places along the centerline of the path of totality will see a totality duration between 3.5 and 4 minutes long, according to NASA. Some places in the U.S. come close to the maximum; Kerrville, Texas, will have a totality duration of 4 minutes, 24 seconds.

What is the path of totality for the 2044 solar eclipse?

After the April 8 eclipse, the next total solar eclipse that will be visible from the contiguous U.S. will be on Aug. 23, 2044.

Astronomy fans in the U.S. will have far fewer opportunities to see the 2044 eclipse than the upcoming one on April 8. NASA has not yet made maps available for the 2044 eclipse, but, according to The Planetary Society , the path of totality will only touch three states.

The 2024 eclipse will start in Greenland, pass over Canada and end as the sun sets in Montana, North Dakota and South Dakota, according to the Planetary Society.

Aliza Chasan is a digital producer at 60 Minutes and CBSNews.com. She has previously written for outlets including PIX11 News, The New York Daily News, Inside Edition and DNAinfo. Aliza covers trending news, often focusing on crime and politics.

More from CBS News

How often do total solar eclipses happen?

When is the next total solar eclipse in the U.S. after today?

Is it safe to take pictures of the solar eclipse with your phone?

See the list of notable total solar eclipses in the U.S. since 1778

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The Case for Marrying an Older Man

A woman’s life is all work and little rest. an age gap relationship can help..

In the summer, in the south of France, my husband and I like to play, rather badly, the lottery. We take long, scorching walks to the village — gratuitous beauty, gratuitous heat — kicking up dust and languid debates over how we’d spend such an influx. I purchase scratch-offs, jackpot tickets, scraping the former with euro coins in restaurants too fine for that. I never cash them in, nor do I check the winning numbers. For I already won something like the lotto, with its gifts and its curses, when he married me.

He is ten years older than I am. I chose him on purpose, not by chance. As far as life decisions go, on balance, I recommend it.

When I was 20 and a junior at Harvard College, a series of great ironies began to mock me. I could study all I wanted, prove myself as exceptional as I liked, and still my fiercest advantage remained so universal it deflated my other plans. My youth. The newness of my face and body. Compellingly effortless; cruelly fleeting. I shared it with the average, idle young woman shrugging down the street. The thought, when it descended on me, jolted my perspective, the way a falling leaf can make you look up: I could diligently craft an ideal existence, over years and years of sleepless nights and industry. Or I could just marry it early.

So naturally I began to lug a heavy suitcase of books each Saturday to the Harvard Business School to work on my Nabokov paper. In one cavernous, well-appointed room sat approximately 50 of the planet’s most suitable bachelors. I had high breasts, most of my eggs, plausible deniability when it came to purity, a flush ponytail, a pep in my step that had yet to run out. Apologies to Progress, but older men still desired those things.

I could not understand why my female classmates did not join me, given their intelligence. Each time I reconsidered the project, it struck me as more reasonable. Why ignore our youth when it amounted to a superpower? Why assume the burdens of womanhood, its too-quick-to-vanish upper hand, but not its brief benefits at least? Perhaps it came easier to avoid the topic wholesale than to accept that women really do have a tragically short window of power, and reason enough to take advantage of that fact while they can. As for me, I liked history, Victorian novels, knew of imminent female pitfalls from all the books I’d read: vampiric boyfriends; labor, at the office and in the hospital, expected simultaneously; a decline in status as we aged, like a looming eclipse. I’d have disliked being called calculating, but I had, like all women, a calculator in my head. I thought it silly to ignore its answers when they pointed to an unfairness for which we really ought to have been preparing.

I was competitive by nature, an English-literature student with all the corresponding major ambitions and minor prospects (Great American novel; email job). A little Bovarist , frantic for new places and ideas; to travel here, to travel there, to be in the room where things happened. I resented the callow boys in my class, who lusted after a particular, socially sanctioned type on campus: thin and sexless, emotionally detached and socially connected, the opposite of me. Restless one Saturday night, I slipped on a red dress and snuck into a graduate-school event, coiling an HDMI cord around my wrist as proof of some technical duty. I danced. I drank for free, until one of the organizers asked me to leave. I called and climbed into an Uber. Then I promptly climbed out of it. For there he was, emerging from the revolving doors. Brown eyes, curved lips, immaculate jacket. I went to him, asked him for a cigarette. A date, days later. A second one, where I discovered he was a person, potentially my favorite kind: funny, clear-eyed, brilliant, on intimate terms with the universe.

I used to love men like men love women — that is, not very well, and with a hunger driven only by my own inadequacies. Not him. In those early days, I spoke fondly of my family, stocked the fridge with his favorite pasta, folded his clothes more neatly than I ever have since. I wrote his mother a thank-you note for hosting me in his native France, something befitting a daughter-in-law. It worked; I meant it. After graduation and my fellowship at Oxford, I stayed in Europe for his career and married him at 23.

Of course I just fell in love. Romances have a setting; I had only intervened to place myself well. Mainly, I spotted the precise trouble of being a woman ahead of time, tried to surf it instead of letting it drown me on principle. I had grown bored of discussions of fair and unfair, equal or unequal , and preferred instead to consider a thing called ease.

The reception of a particular age-gap relationship depends on its obviousness. The greater and more visible the difference in years and status between a man and a woman, the more it strikes others as transactional. Transactional thinking in relationships is both as American as it gets and the least kosher subject in the American romantic lexicon. When a 50-year-old man and a 25-year-old woman walk down the street, the questions form themselves inside of you; they make you feel cynical and obscene: How good of a deal is that? Which party is getting the better one? Would I take it? He is older. Income rises with age, so we assume he has money, at least relative to her; at minimum, more connections and experience. She has supple skin. Energy. Sex. Maybe she gets a Birkin. Maybe he gets a baby long after his prime. The sight of their entwined hands throws a lucid light on the calculations each of us makes, in love, to varying degrees of denial. You could get married in the most romantic place in the world, like I did, and you would still have to sign a contract.

Twenty and 30 is not like 30 and 40; some freshness to my features back then, some clumsiness in my bearing, warped our decade, in the eyes of others, to an uncrossable gulf. Perhaps this explains the anger we felt directed at us at the start of our relationship. People seemed to take us very, very personally. I recall a hellish car ride with a friend of his who began to castigate me in the backseat, in tones so low that only I could hear him. He told me, You wanted a rich boyfriend. You chased and snuck into parties . He spared me the insult of gold digger, but he drew, with other words, the outline for it. Most offended were the single older women, my husband’s classmates. They discussed me in the bathroom at parties when I was in the stall. What does he see in her? What do they talk about? They were concerned about me. They wielded their concern like a bludgeon. They paraphrased without meaning to my favorite line from Nabokov’s Lolita : “You took advantage of my disadvantage,” suspecting me of some weakness he in turn mined. It did not disturb them, so much, to consider that all relationships were trades. The trouble was the trade I’d made struck them as a bad one.

The truth is you can fall in love with someone for all sorts of reasons, tiny transactions, pluses and minuses, whose sum is your affection for each other, your loyalty, your commitment. The way someone picks up your favorite croissant. Their habit of listening hard. What they do for you on your anniversary and your reciprocal gesture, wrapped thoughtfully. The serenity they inspire; your happiness, enlivening it. When someone says they feel unappreciated, what they really mean is you’re in debt to them.

When I think of same-age, same-stage relationships, what I tend to picture is a woman who is doing too much for too little.

I’m 27 now, and most women my age have “partners.” These days, girls become partners quite young. A partner is supposed to be a modern answer to the oppression of marriage, the terrible feeling of someone looming over you, head of a household to which you can only ever be the neck. Necks are vulnerable. The problem with a partner, however, is if you’re equal in all things, you compromise in all things. And men are too skilled at taking .

There is a boy out there who knows how to floss because my friend taught him. Now he kisses college girls with fresh breath. A boy married to my friend who doesn’t know how to pack his own suitcase. She “likes to do it for him.” A million boys who know how to touch a woman, who go to therapy because they were pushed, who learned fidelity, boundaries, decency, manners, to use a top sheet and act humanely beneath it, to call their mothers, match colors, bring flowers to a funeral and inhale, exhale in the face of rage, because some girl, some girl we know, some girl they probably don’t speak to and will never, ever credit, took the time to teach him. All while she was working, raising herself, clawing up the cliff-face of adulthood. Hauling him at her own expense.

I find a post on Reddit where five thousand men try to define “ a woman’s touch .” They describe raised flower beds, blankets, photographs of their loved ones, not hers, sprouting on the mantel overnight. Candles, coasters, side tables. Someone remembering to take lint out of the dryer. To give compliments. I wonder what these women are getting back. I imagine them like Cinderella’s mice, scurrying around, their sole proof of life their contributions to a more central character. On occasion I meet a nice couple, who grew up together. They know each other with a fraternalism tender and alien to me.  But I think of all my friends who failed at this, were failed at this, and I think, No, absolutely not, too risky . Riskier, sometimes, than an age gap.

My younger brother is in his early 20s, handsome, successful, but in many ways: an endearing disaster. By his age, I had long since wisened up. He leaves his clothes in the dryer, takes out a single shirt, steams it for three minutes. His towel on the floor, for someone else to retrieve. His lovely, same-age girlfriend is aching to fix these tendencies, among others. She is capable beyond words. Statistically, they will not end up together. He moved into his first place recently, and she, the girlfriend, supplied him with a long, detailed list of things he needed for his apartment: sheets, towels, hangers, a colander, which made me laugh. She picked out his couch. I will bet you anything she will fix his laundry habits, and if so, they will impress the next girl. If they break up, she will never see that couch again, and he will forget its story. I tell her when I visit because I like her, though I get in trouble for it: You shouldn’t do so much for him, not for someone who is not stuck with you, not for any boy, not even for my wonderful brother.

Too much work had left my husband, by 30, jaded and uninspired. He’d burned out — but I could reenchant things. I danced at restaurants when they played a song I liked. I turned grocery shopping into an adventure, pleased by what I provided. Ambitious, hungry, he needed someone smart enough to sustain his interest, but flexible enough in her habits to build them around his hours. I could. I do: read myself occupied, make myself free, materialize beside him when he calls for me. In exchange, I left a lucrative but deadening spreadsheet job to write full-time, without having to live like a writer. I learned to cook, a little, and decorate, somewhat poorly. Mostly I get to read, to walk central London and Miami and think in delicious circles, to work hard, when necessary, for free, and write stories for far less than minimum wage when I tally all the hours I take to write them.

At 20, I had felt daunted by the project of becoming my ideal self, couldn’t imagine doing it in tandem with someone, two raw lumps of clay trying to mold one another and only sullying things worse. I’d go on dates with boys my age and leave with the impression they were telling me not about themselves but some person who didn’t exist yet and on whom I was meant to bet regardless. My husband struck me instead as so finished, formed. Analyzable for compatibility. He bore the traces of other women who’d improved him, small but crucial basics like use a coaster ; listen, don’t give advice. Young egos mellow into patience and generosity.

My husband isn’t my partner. He’s my mentor, my lover, and, only in certain contexts, my friend. I’ll never forget it, how he showed me around our first place like he was introducing me to myself: This is the wine you’ll drink, where you’ll keep your clothes, we vacation here, this is the other language we’ll speak, you’ll learn it, and I did. Adulthood seemed a series of exhausting obligations. But his logistics ran so smoothly that he simply tacked mine on. I moved into his flat, onto his level, drag and drop, cleaner thrice a week, bills automatic. By opting out of partnership in my 20s, I granted myself a kind of compartmentalized, liberating selfishness none of my friends have managed. I am the work in progress, the party we worry about, a surprising dominance. When I searched for my first job, at 21, we combined our efforts, for my sake. He had wisdom to impart, contacts with whom he arranged coffees; we spent an afternoon, laughing, drawing up earnest lists of my pros and cons (highly sociable; sloppy math). Meanwhile, I took calls from a dear friend who had a boyfriend her age. Both savagely ambitious, hyperclose and entwined in each other’s projects. If each was a start-up , the other was the first hire, an intense dedication I found riveting. Yet every time she called me, I hung up with the distinct feeling that too much was happening at the same time: both learning to please a boss; to forge more adult relationships with their families; to pay bills and taxes and hang prints on the wall. Neither had any advice to give and certainly no stability. I pictured a three-legged race, two people tied together and hobbling toward every milestone.

I don’t fool myself. My marriage has its cons. There are only so many times one can say “thank you” — for splendid scenes, fine dinners — before the phrase starts to grate. I live in an apartment whose rent he pays and that shapes the freedom with which I can ever be angry with him. He doesn’t have to hold it over my head. It just floats there, complicating usual shorthands to explain dissatisfaction like, You aren’t being supportive lately . It’s a Frenchism to say, “Take a decision,” and from time to time I joke: from whom? Occasionally I find myself in some fabulous country at some fabulous party and I think what a long way I have traveled, like a lucky cloud, and it is frightening to think of oneself as vapor.

Mostly I worry that if he ever betrayed me and I had to move on, I would survive, but would find in my humor, preferences, the way I make coffee or the bed nothing that he did not teach, change, mold, recompose, stamp with his initials, the way Renaissance painters hid in their paintings their faces among a crowd. I wonder if when they looked at their paintings, they saw their own faces first. But this is the wrong question, if our aim is happiness. Like the other question on which I’m expected to dwell: Who is in charge, the man who drives or the woman who put him there so she could enjoy herself? I sit in the car, in the painting it would have taken me a corporate job and 20 years to paint alone, and my concern over who has the upper hand becomes as distant as the horizon, the one he and I made so wide for me.

To be a woman is to race against the clock, in several ways, until there is nothing left to be but run ragged.

We try to put it off, but it will hit us at some point: that we live in a world in which our power has a different shape from that of men, a different distribution of advantage, ours a funnel and theirs an expanding cone. A woman at 20 rarely has to earn her welcome; a boy at 20 will be turned away at the door. A woman at 30 may find a younger woman has taken her seat; a man at 30 will have invited her. I think back to the women in the bathroom, my husband’s classmates. What was my relationship if not an inconvertible sign of this unfairness? What was I doing, in marrying older, if not endorsing it? I had taken advantage of their disadvantage. I had preempted my own. After all, principled women are meant to defy unfairness, to show some integrity or denial, not plan around it, like I had. These were driven women, successful, beautiful, capable. I merely possessed the one thing they had already lost. In getting ahead of the problem, had I pushed them down? If I hadn’t, would it really have made any difference?

When we decided we wanted to be equal to men, we got on men’s time. We worked when they worked, retired when they retired, had to squeeze pregnancy, children, menopause somewhere impossibly in the margins. I have a friend, in her late 20s, who wears a mood ring; these days it is often red, flickering in the air like a siren when she explains her predicament to me. She has raised her fair share of same-age boyfriends. She has put her head down, worked laboriously alongside them, too. At last she is beginning to reap the dividends, earning the income to finally enjoy herself. But it is now, exactly at this precipice of freedom and pleasure, that a time problem comes closing in. If she would like to have children before 35, she must begin her next profession, motherhood, rather soon, compromising inevitably her original one. The same-age partner, equally unsettled in his career, will take only the minimum time off, she guesses, or else pay some cost which will come back to bite her. Everything unfailingly does. If she freezes her eggs to buy time, the decision and its logistics will burden her singly — and perhaps it will not work. Overlay the years a woman is supposed to establish herself in her career and her fertility window and it’s a perfect, miserable circle. By midlife women report feeling invisible, undervalued; it is a telling cliché, that after all this, some husbands leave for a younger girl. So when is her time, exactly? For leisure, ease, liberty? There is no brand of feminism which achieved female rest. If women’s problem in the ’50s was a paralyzing malaise, now it is that they are too active, too capable, never permitted a vacation they didn’t plan. It’s not that our efforts to have it all were fated for failure. They simply weren’t imaginative enough.

For me, my relationship, with its age gap, has alleviated this rush , permitted me to massage the clock, shift its hands to my benefit. Very soon, we will decide to have children, and I don’t panic over last gasps of fun, because I took so many big breaths of it early: on the holidays of someone who had worked a decade longer than I had, in beautiful places when I was young and beautiful, a symmetry I recommend. If such a thing as maternal energy exists, mine was never depleted. I spent the last nearly seven years supported more than I support and I am still not as old as my husband was when he met me. When I have a child, I will expect more help from him than I would if he were younger, for what does professional tenure earn you if not the right to set more limits on work demands — or, if not, to secure some child care, at the very least? When I return to work after maternal upheaval, he will aid me, as he’s always had, with his ability to put himself aside, as younger men are rarely able.

Above all, the great gift of my marriage is flexibility. A chance to live my life before I become responsible for someone else’s — a lover’s, or a child’s. A chance to write. A chance at a destiny that doesn’t adhere rigidly to the routines and timelines of men, but lends itself instead to roomy accommodation, to the very fluidity Betty Friedan dreamed of in 1963 in The Feminine Mystique , but we’ve largely forgotten: some career or style of life that “permits year-to-year variation — a full-time paid job in one community, part-time in another, exercise of the professional skill in serious volunteer work or a period of study during pregnancy or early motherhood when a full-time job is not feasible.” Some things are just not feasible in our current structures. Somewhere along the way we stopped admitting that, and all we did was make women feel like personal failures. I dream of new structures, a world in which women have entry-level jobs in their 30s; alternate avenues for promotion; corporate ladders with balconies on which they can stand still, have a smoke, take a break, make a baby, enjoy themselves, before they keep climbing. Perhaps men long for this in their own way. Actually I am sure of that.

Once, when we first fell in love, I put my head in his lap on a long car ride; I remember his hands on my face, the sun, the twisting turns of a mountain road, surprising and not surprising us like our romance, and his voice, telling me that it was his biggest regret that I was so young, he feared he would lose me. Last week, we looked back at old photos and agreed we’d given each other our respective best years. Sometimes real equality is not so obvious, sometimes it takes turns, sometimes it takes almost a decade to reveal itself.

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Sheriff: Florida college student stabs mom to death because 'she got on my nerves'

A 21-year-old college student is charged with first-degree murder after Florida authorities say he drove to his mother’s home and stabbed her multiple times because she got on his nerves

FROSTPROOF, Fla. -- A 21-year-old college student has been charged with first-degree murder after Florida authorities say he drove to his mother’s home and stabbed her multiple times Saturday because “she got on my nerves,” authorities said.

Emmanuel Espinoza drove about 165 miles (266 kilometers) from the University of Florida in Gainesville to Frostproof, Florida, for a family event. When he arrived at his mother's, he began stabbing her when she answered the door and then called 911 to confess to the slaying, said Polk County Sheriff Grady Judd.

Elvia Espinoza, 46, was on the phone with another relative when her son attacked her.

“We talked to him and he confessed. He said, ‘You know, I have wanted to kill my mother for many, many years because she got on my nerves,’” Judd said. “We asked him, ‘What’s your relationship with your mother?' and, he said about an eight out of 10, that he really loved her, but she irritated him.”

The mother was a second grade teacher and was loved by the community, Judd said.

“This is a horrible event,” Judd said. “It's a very sad day with an inexplicable, vicious murder,” he said.

Jail records didn't list an attorney for Espinoza.

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I flew in business class for the first time. It cost $6,000 and was the best flight of my life, but I wouldn't do it again for 5 reasons.

• I took a 12-hour, business-class flight from Los Angeles to Auckland, New Zealand.
• Air New Zealand's business-class seats on this route typically cost $6,000.
• It was the most luxurious flight of my life, but I can't justify paying that much anytime soon.

Every time I book a flight, I eye the first-class and business-class seats. 

The extra space, the delicious food , and the endless bubbly seem like pure luxury. Just as I'm tempted to turn my daydream into reality and switch from economy class to first , my brain reminds me that I don't have an endless budget.

Things changed during the summer of 2022 when Air New Zealand invited me to its headquarters to cover the airline's redesigned cabins . For the 12-hour flight from Los Angeles to Auckland, I'd sit in business class for the first time . 

It was easily the most glamorous ride of my entire life, and I disembarked knowing that I likely wouldn't do it again anytime soon.

Minutes after settling into business class on an Air New Zealand flight, I had the realization that this plane ride was going to be unlike any other flight I'd taken.

Before I found seat 1A on the Boeing 787-9 aircraft, I was already being treated like royalty. 

One flight attendant was pouring me a glass of sparkling wine. Another one was helping lift my carry-on bag into the overhead bins . A third soon followed to introduce herself and welcome me on the Air New Zealand flight. 

If those first few minutes were any indicator of the rest of my ride, I knew I was in for a glamorous time. 

I also knew that business-class passengers around me had likely dropped around $6,000 for their one-way ticket, according to Air New Zealand's website . Round-trip tickets are often priced closer to $10,000. 

Before this flight, I'd never spent more than $1,400 on a plane ticket. Most vacations involve free campsites and nights spent in a $20 tent I bought off Facebook Marketplace. 

I was appreciative of the indulgent flight — years later, I'm still thinking about the chocolate tart served for dessert. But even after all the perks, I'm convinced flying business class isn't worth the splurge. 

Every expectation of business class was met, but I'd ultimately never shell out $10,000 for a round-trip ticket. It's not like the plane will get there faster than it would if I were sitting in coach.

Every part of the 12-hour flight was filled with luxury .

I was handed a warm towel before a three-course dinner. I received a turndown service, and flight attendants converted my seat into a lie-flat bed. I slept better than I had on any flight and woke up to a fruit smoothie and warm coffee.

Even with those perks, it was hard to ignore the fact that the flight was the same 12 hours as it was in coach. 

No amount of wine could distract me from the fact that I was still confined to a tight space. No number of free toiletries could make me ignore the fact that I was about to spend days jet-lagged. 

Ultimately, I would feel cramped and jet-lagged whether I sat in the front or the back of the plane for 12 hours.

Now if my business-class ticket came with turbo speed that could transport me to New Zealand in fewer hours than an economy ticket could, perhaps I'd think twice about the cost. 

For the same price as a round-trip flight, in theory, I could've paid for another three weeks in New Zealand, covered months of rent, or put a down payment on a new car.

When it comes to traveling, I'm typically willing to sacrifice comfort for the experience. For example, I'd much rather pay money to go skydiving or bungee jumping than stay in a five-star hotel .

And $10,000 could fund a lot of life experiences. The cost of my business-class seat on the same route could buy another vacation, pay for multiple months of rent, or be used as a down payment on a new car that could take me on adventures across the US . 

I could also replicate my entire 21-day trip to New Zealand and Australia for less than the cost of a round-trip ticket to New Zealand since the trip cost closer to $9,000. 

While I loved the business-class experience, I'd trade it in a heartbeat to go diving in the Great Barrier Reef again , stay in more magical tiny homes , and continue exploring the two epic countries. 

The flight also taught me that I don't truly embrace the motto: "It's about the journey, not the destination." To me, flights are all about getting from point A to point B.

I've probably reiterated the phrase dozens of times. To a degree, I stand by the concept that life is often about the journey. 

I've embarked on plenty of road trips where the best memories happened in the passenger seat of the car — not the destinations we were driving to. 

But when I look at the highlights of past trips, plane rides never stand out.

I think that's because the entire experience — regardless of your cabin class — still has challenges. Between possible delays, dry air, cabin pressure, limited space, and potential jet lag, I've never been all that eager to board a plane.

I absolutely love the rush when the plane lifts off the ground, and I savor the views and conversations with strangers on each flight.

But the excitement I experience is more about where I'm going. It's not about being cramped on a plane. 

I previously never considered the environmental toll of sitting in business class.

Before my trip, I knew that flying was one of the more carbon-intensive transportation options. Aviation makes up about 2% of global carbon emissions, according to the International Energy Agency .

Two months after my business-class flight, I was chatting with sustainability experts about how to make trips and vacations more sustainable . They told me that a large part of a vacation's carbon footprint will likely come from the flight, and if I do need to fly to my destination, it's more responsible to sit in economy class. 

That's because a business-class seat takes up significantly more space on a plane. This means that fewer passengers can fit onto the aircraft and, therefore, there's a larger carbon footprint.

For example, a business-class row of seats on Air New Zealand's Boeing 787-9 fits three people. Meanwhile, a row in economy on the same plane fits nine passengers. Those nine people have a much smaller personal carbon footprint than the three sitting in business class. 

As someone who never had the chance to sit in premium economy, much less business class, before this trip, I hadn't considered the different carbon footprints each cabin class has on planes.

As I continue searching for more sustainable ways to travel, like train travel, I'm also booking economy for future flights.

I am privileged to be able to sit in an economy cabin as an able-bodied person, and I plan to do so for as long as possible.

I'm young and able-bodied. And while sitting in economy is never a blast, especially on long-haul flights, I am fortunate that I can. Planes aren't designed for everyone.

As BuzzFeed reported, flying as a plus-sized passenger is both stigmatized and challenging. Some airlines like Southwest at one point had "customer of size" policies that stated passengers "who are unable to lower both armrests when seated should book another seat because of complaints."

As Business Insider previously reported, a Qatar Airways passenger said she was denied boarding and asked to buy a first-class ticket because of her size. 

It's not just plus-sized passengers who face flying struggles. Planes are not often a comfortable experience for many people with disabilities. Rebekah Taussig, a wheelchair user, wrote for Time that "flying has always felt disempowering." And a survey by Disability Horizons reported that 43% of surveyed wheelchair users who've attempted to fly now avoid it. 

Flying — especially in economy class — isn't something everyone has the privilege to do. I'm fortunate that I can fit into and relax in an economy seat on a long-haul flight. For me, wanting the luxury of a business-class seat doesn't seem necessary at this point in my life. 

Ultimately, I'm at a point in my life where every dollar and every day of exploring matters to me. For now, I'll skip paying for a business-class seat.

There are a few circumstances where I'd consider splurging on a premium-economy ticket, such as a monumental birthday trip or a honeymoon. But I can't envision an instance where I would pay $10,000 for a regular long-haul, business-class flight.

From the environmental toll to extra time in a destination, I would rather use that money elsewhere, and I plan to stick with economy class for future flights. 

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