They Call It 'Jetting'

I really don't like flying.
There's something about Jet Blue, though. Maybe it's the leather seats. Maybe it's a television for every passenger. Maybe it's the safety measures in use well before 9/11. And maybe it's that amazing new terminal at New York's JFK.
Yesterday I flew from New York to Los Angeles. While the flight itself was totally uneventful, which is what we want our flights to be, my time at the airport was quite a break from my usual routine.
How was it that I got to the airport about a half hour earlier than planned and somehow managed to get to my gate just in time to board the plane?
I, who normally pace back and forth in front of the gate striking all sorts of deals with fate in exchange for a safe flight, had no time in which to observe even one I'm Scared Out Of My Wits ritual. How could it be that I walked to the gate and onto the plane without curling into the fetal position for at least five minutes? Was it possible that I forgot to double check every item in my carry on luggage? How could this have happened?
I think somewhere between the chair massage, the I-pod exhibit, the computerized food court, the elevated mobile office deck, the fresh baked pizza, and the Merlot I lost track of terror and time.
I see now that even though I'm no fan of flying, I'm a great fan of Jet Blue.