I have flown more times in the past two years than most will ever fly in their life. I have airport security down to a scientific sport. If going through the TSA checkpoint was an Olympic event, I’d get the gold medal and all the other medals because I’m that good at being speedy and efficient. Why do I know how to sashay my way through the security so well? Good question. As a child of an American Airlines frequent flier king, I often got brought along as the precious cargo. This was only the glorious beginning. Starting at around age eight, I started visiting my grandparents in Houston every summer. For an eight-year-old, flying between Dallas and Houston was a huge feat, and for young me, flying was a privilege reserved for when I was with dear old dad and mom. But there I was, with my disgustingly royal blue plastic ticket-holder chilling within the first couple of rows on a Southwest plane.

Since then not much has changed. Although I have long since ditched the bangs and Bratz doll obsession, I am still enamored with the sensation of flying. I enjoy the takeoff, the cruising and best of all, the landing. The sudden jolt of metal bird-thing and cement can only be compared to the euphoria of gliding on smooth ice. It’s the exhilarating reminder that you have reached your destination — or your connection.

At 17 I have my own Southwest Airlines A-list Prefered card and it’s under my name, much to the astonishment of one curbside checker. So you could say I am truly my father’s daughter. You’re probably asking yourself, how did you manage that? Well dear reader, my mother still resides in Dallas while I live with my father and stepmother here in the 512, so I get the banal privilege of flying back and forth every other weekend. And apparently, over a course of three years with the occasional fun trip here and there, the points add up quite rapidly.

To say this opportunity is rare is an understatement. All I can say is that I am very grateful to continue to fly, but a trip outside the US, as well would be cool.