Air travel is the safest form of travel aside from walking even then, the chances of being hit by a public bus at 30 000 feet are remarkably slim. I also have no problem with confined spaces. Or heights. What I am afraid of is speed.

Crosley’s line uses mock-statistical reassurance to undercut the usual catalog of flight anxieties. By conceding that flying is objectively safe—then joking about the near-impossibility of a bus collision at cruising altitude—she exposes how fear often ignores probability. The pivot (“What I am afraid of is speed”) reframes the issue: the dread is not enclosure or height but the unnerving fact of rapid motion and the loss of felt control that comes with it. The humor sharpens a modern, urban sensibility: rationality and wit coexist with irrational, bodily unease, and the essayistic voice turns private anxiety into a comic observation about risk perception.