For the first time in years, I was taking an airplane trip by myself.

No friend to help me navigate crowded concourses.

No husband to blindly follow. I was flying the post-Covid-era skies all by myself.

The voice inside my head talked out of both sides of her mouth.

“Stop being a whiny-baby,” was one. This voice was the strong side, the one who believed I could not only navigate the airport but easily sail through the TSA screening line and baggage pick up.

This voice reassured me I could probably put the plane on auto pilot at 30,000 feet and make small talk with passengers as I passed out coffee and peanuts.

Then there was the other voice.

“You. Cannot. Do. This. Alone.”

This sneaky voice told me I’d forget something at the security check point.

The voice said I was going to miss my connection because I couldn’t maneuver the Atlanta airport all by myself.

This voice said I’d never remember my gate numbers, even though both the boarding passes and seat numbers were on my phone and written in the notebook I had in my purse.

Then the voice whispered “What if your phone dies? What if you lose your purse? What if you lose your wallet with all your identification and your credit card?” This voice had the “what ifs” down to a crippling science.

The whiny voice had an ally. My connecting flight in Atlanta to Greensboro, N.C. was a tight fit.

When I made the connection, I was a little concerned, but it was the last flight out of Atlanta to Greensboro.

I was determined to watch our grandchildren play in their soccer game that morning. So I rolled the dice, hoping the flight from Houston would arrive in Atlanta on time.

While waiting to board the plane to Atlanta, I was chatting with a pilot. I asked him about connections in Atlanta since that was his home base.

“I tell people if they don’t have an hour and a half in Atlanta, they’ll never make their connection,” he said.

I had 50 minutes.

The whiny voice practically smiled.

I thought about having to spend the night in Atlanta. The whiny voice told me there wouldn’t be a room available since the World Series games were in Atlanta that night. The voice told me I could try sleeping on the floor, but I’d probably get mugged.

I texted my youngest sister in North Carolina and told her I’d call if I missed my flight, which was probably a safe bet to make. She texted me back:  “If you run into a glitch, you are a smart, capable woman and you will figure it out!”

The relief I felt was instantaneous.

My strong voice took center stage. She reminded me of the many times I’d stepped up in tough situations and figured it out. The results weren’t always pretty, but I’d always come up with a solution.

I’ll always struggle with the two voices in my head. Sometimes that whiny voice will be louder, the one that’ll cause me to doubt my decisions and every choice I’ve made.

But then I’m going to remember – I made that connection in Atlanta. True, the flight attendant closed the main doors behind me when I got on the plane to Greensboro, sweating after riding the train from literally one end of the airport to the other and running for the gate, hauling my suitcase and a heavy backpack.

I didn’t lose my phone or my boarding passes. I’d made the trip home without any worries because I listened to my strong voice.

I’d still rather have my husband with me on my travels and I’ll probably be happier if my future flights are non-stop.

But just in case my phone dies, I lose my purse or there is a tight connecting flight, I’ll listen to my strong self.

She not only believes I could figure out a solution, but I could also step into the cockpit and land that plane with my eyes closed.

She just might be right.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.