I know this is a strange question, but this is the only place I've found on the Internet where I feel like people would get it. For context, please read my introduction and past life memories. I've always wanted to fly. I've never been afraid of flying--of something happening and me falling and getting hurt--but for a long time, I've been afraid of other people knowing I want to fly. I can trace this partly to a traumatic experience as I'll describe below, but it's seeming like it's much more complicated than this. When I was little I felt that flying and the desire to fly were special, but I saw no reason not to share it with the people around me, and it wasn't a big deal. Flying machines were among the things I drew plans for and talked about, but it seemed to be a normal thing to me. When I was in sixth grade, I "invented" a set of mechanical wings for a person to wear, and I told everybody at school about it. While I was showing the plans to a friend, a bully stole my English notebook, and then I got in trouble at home for showing off because it caused me to have my notebook stolen. Classic minor but traumatic experience, right? Not quite. I did not immediately decide to hide my desire to fly--I don't remember what caused me to do so, but gradually a few years later I decided that this was too special and vulnerable for me to make it known to others. Soon afterwards I started writing a story about a boy who mysteriously got wings. (His name was Jake, hence my username.) At first I told myself I was writing it to explore how someone with a different gift than mine (intelligence--I was moved up a grade and then bullied for many years) would be treated, but it ended up with the protagonist finding peace in a quasi-spiritual world with others who could also fly like him. (This was before I was seriously considering spirituality.) At the time I was a bit bothered by the implications of this--would I never find acceptance here? I did eventually find acceptance for my gift at college, so that part was resolved. But this story became really meaningful for me: I felt it was a way for me to keep a beautiful part of me alive that would otherwise be neglected. It became a thing for me to share the story with people who I was very close to. I wanted to think I was becoming more open about it, but that's not really true--it still took me about a half hour or sitting in silence trying to work up the courage to say "I've always wanted to fly" to my counselor. Early last summer (2011), before I went to the Weiss workshop, I finally wrote about what happened to me in sixth grade in the journal of sorts I kept with the story, and then I felt like I was comfortable with my own desire to fly, for the first time in a long time. Consequently, I thought I had resolved everything; it was exactly a month before the workshop, so it felt like I was closing one act of my life and starting another. When I saw myself flying in a past life, I figured this had nothing to do with my current life--because, well, I had been killed while flying; I assumed that if baggage from that was affecting my current life, it would be making me afraid to fly, and I clearly wasn't afraid to fly because I wanted to so much; so therefore it had nothing to do with it. I suspect this is not valid, though I don't understand it. However, the experience definitely did have this effect on me: earlier, because of the way I treated flight in the story, I had been thinking of it as something magical that I couldn't do, and thinking that airplanes and such didn't count. But at the beginning of this school year, a friend extended an open invitation to me to visit him in a faraway state, and I started thinking that maybe flying on a commercial airplane would count, at least a little. In short, I worked things out, and flew for the first time last (2011) Christmas break. (My parents paid for the tickets as a Christmas present--they had no idea what kind of a present they were giving me!) It was wonderful, and I was not afraid at all. The best way I could describe it was that it felt like being in the arms of someone I loved. After we landed, I even talked about it a little on Facebook and publicly thanked everyone who had helped me get to this point. After I got back, I told my mom everything about this (which I hadn't mentioned a word about since sixth grade). The upshot is that she wasn't ever mad at me for my notebook being stolen, it just had appeared that way to me; and she didn't think it was weird that I wanted to fly. So that was sort of resolved as well. So the first thing I'm trying to understand is why do I want to fly so much. But the second thing I don't understand, and what's still holding me back, is that it seems things haven't changed with me even after all this. I'm still just as afraid of living as someone with a passion for flight. For instance, I decided to watch some videos on the subject a couple months ago. It still took me like five minutes to click on the link, and I was still paralyzed with fear when my roommate walked in and almost unable to move to close the browser window--even though I've told him all about it! Do you have any guesses about what could be going on?