Confession: I Hate Balloons and I Hate Turbulence

I’m just going to say it—I hate balloons. Like, truly, deeply, irrationally hate them. And while I’m at it, I might as well confess that I also hate turbulence. And weirdly enough, these two things are connected in ways I didn’t fully realize until now.

Let’s start with balloons. Sure, they look innocent—colorful, floaty, harmless. But to me, they’re ticking time bombs. There’s something about that tension, the way they hover on the edge of exploding, that makes me uneasy. Every single one is just a split second away from a loud, unexpected pop, and the anxiety of not knowing when it’ll happen? No thanks. The whole concept of a balloon is fragile. It’s too close to chaos.

Then there’s turbulence. It’s like the airborne cousin of balloons—an invisible force that makes me feel utterly out of control. One minute you’re cruising along at 30,000 feet, and the next? You’re jolting around, gravity playing tricks on you, with the unsettling realization that you are completely at the mercy of the sky. It’s that same damn feeling I get with balloons—the anticipation of the unknown, the way everything seems to hang in the balance.

Both balloons and turbulence are reminders that we’re not in control, that we’re always teetering on the edge of unpredictability. And that’s what really gets under my skin. I like my chaos organized, thank you very much. The sudden, uncontrollable nature of both sends me into a state of low-grade panic, a reminder that sometimes life just throws things at you, and all you can do is sit there and hope it doesn’t all blow up in your face—or send you bouncing out of your seat.

I get it—some people thrive on the unexpected. The excitement of the unknown, the thrill of not knowing what comes next. But for me? Nah. Balloons and turbulence are just constant reminders that things can go wrong without warning, and I’d rather not be caught off guard.

Maybe that’s what it boils down to—control. Or the lack of it. Balloons and turbulence? They’re wildcards, and I’ve never been a fan of betting on wildcards. I like to know the stakes, know what’s coming. But balloons? They don’t care. They hover there with all that pressure, just waiting to burst. And turbulence? It’ll shake you up without a second thought.

So yeah, I hate balloons, and I hate turbulence. Maybe it’s irrational, maybe it’s just a quirk, but honestly? I’m okay with that.