I feel the Earth move
under my feet
Actually, the problem is that I don’t feel the Earth move under my feet (or under my butt, since I’m sitting down), but — through the porthole-sized window on the jet — I do see it moving. The bridge edges toward a good-enough alignment with the door in the airplane’s fuselage — or maybe we’re edging toward the bridge, I can’t tell — and I have a moment of complete disorientation.
We’re moving.
No, we’re not.
Well, it looks like we’re moving.
Well, it doesn’t feel like it.
Or does it? By now, it feels like the inside of my head is moving.
Is the bridge moving
or are we?
I dunno,
but I think I’m gonna throw up.
It seems to be a transient form of motion sickness.
Motion sickness happens when your brain gets conflicting messages
from the parts of your body that sense motion:
your eyes, inner ear, muscles and joints.
– Cleveland Clinic
That sounds right. My eyes are screaming “Brace yourself, we’re moving”, but the other body parts are silent. Maybe they’re preoccupied? After the descent from 35,000 feet with a head cold just next door, as it were, my inner ears are wondering whether they’ll ever be the same again. After a day of flying, my muscles and joints are wondering how much longer they have to remain in this unnatural stillness.
I don’t know why a moving-thing-seen-through-a-small-window is particularly susceptible to this confusion — Is it moving or am I? — but I’ve noticed the problem before on airplanes. In addition to bridges, de-icing equipment is a common culprit, so I expect it has something to do with close-in motion and the lack of a horizon for perspective.
What can I do about it? To keep it from happening, I can keep from looking out the airplane window when I can’t see the horizon. If it does happen, I can close my eyes and concentrate on what those other sensors are telling me. If that doesn’t help, I can just wait: This, too, shall pass.
It’s much like the advice I give myself when life as a whole feels disorienting. When I can’t tell whether the world is reeling or I am, I try to look to the big picture, to anchor myself in the things that don’t move around rudely. If I do get off-balance, I can limit my inputs, concentrating on the things I’m sure of. And if that doesn’t help, I can just wait: It might feel momentarily like the sky is tumbling down, but so far so good.
Not planes, but trains. Back in the days when people actually travelled on trains. You’re stopped in a station, with a freight train on the siding beside you. You look out that window, and realize you’re moving. But you’re not — it’s the freight train that’s moving. Yet it’s so disorienting — a conflict between what your eyes tell you and what your body tells you — that you grab for support anyway.
Disorientation seems to be the mark of a couple of mini-strokes I MAY have had (the verdict is still out) but I find the whole world disoriented these days. Maybe my strokes, if that’s what they were, were my brain’s attempt to bring order to chaos.
Jim T – Yes, of course trains would do the same thing. It’s been a long while since I’ve been on one (20 years?) but it’s the same effect. I hope your own disorientation settles down.
Thank you for this fascinating explanation of motion sickness. I was the family member who sometimes forced mother and sister to get off the Toronto streetcar until my urge to throw up had passed. Mother usually carried a paper bag or two in her handbag. I don’t think she knew the “breathe into the bag” trick; they were receptacles in case we did not exit the streetcar in time. Then, the family got an automobile and I was the one who would interrupt long car trips with my nausea. After a few annoying stops, Mother’s solution soon became, “Close your eyes and try to sleep.” I see from your Mayo Clinic description why that method worked so well — one of the main sensory inputs was shut down. When I was a little older, the family would sing on a long drive. Occupying the ear with sound would help to regulate those conflicting sensory inputs. Your ears might appreciate some music during a flight, and even after you have returned to terra firma.
Laurna – Distracting the ears and temporarily shutting down the eyes both seem like good ideas. I think if I tried singing they might throw me off onto the tarmac!
Wasn’t this effect the inspirational beginning of Einstein’s theory of relativity? Not sure if he shut his eyes or not.
Judith – I think the effect might have been different, but he definitely used a moving train in a thought experiment, as described here.
I wonder if it has anything to do with the distance you are off the ground?
Tom
Tom – I don’t know. When I think more on it, I believe I’ve noticed the same effect in a car stopped at a stop light, when the car beside me starts to move. It feels like I’m moving so I jam (harder) on the brake pedal, which helps to break the illusion of movement.