There is an evil enemy, which I've been running from for a few years, but now need to stand up to and face.
Finally this week, I found the intent to do so, and think - hope - that it will bring some fascinating new experiences.
I made the decision on Monday, travelling back from London to Cambridge, after teaching media skills to a group of Malaysian parliamentarians.
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They were a delight to work with, so energetic and enthusiastic, and with some wonderful insights into the ways of politics in their country.
We got on so well, they even insisted on taking photos of me for their social media.
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At the end of the session, we had lunch together, and they invited me to come and visit Malaysia.
What a wonderful opportunity, you might think. What a privilege.
And you would be right. Except...
I am scared stiff, absolutely chicken, a real yellow bellied hopeless coward when it comes to flying.
I hate it. Utterly hate it.
I detest the take off, I loathe the landing, and I don't care for the bit in the middle, either.
Which means I do my very, very best to avoid flying.
But then comes the clash in my mind -
Look at all the opportunities I'm missing out on. Because I can't find a way to get over my fear.
So this week, I resolved that I would.
Which, of course, is all very well to say. The question is... how?
I thought about it for a while, then realised (and you won't be surprised to read this) that I had been an idiot.
What do I always tell people when they aren't good at something? Preach away from my self appointed pulpit of wisdom.
Practise. Force yourself to do it.
If you don't like something, or aren't good at it, but need to master it...
Try it time and again, and with practice you'll get the hang of it.
I also realised I had already taken a small step on the daunting path of becoming a fearless flier.
Last month, I flew to Guernsey for a work trip -
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Wow, what a wonderful place. The trip was a delight.
But I was particularly proud of myself because I had to fly to get there.
And ok, it wasn't exactly a long haul, half way around the world, intercontinental slog of a flight (it was one hour, in fact.)
But it felt that way to me, as I got on board the plane.
And I still did it.
So, that's the plan, and I can't believe I didn't work it out before.
Practise, practise, practise is the way, as is so often the case in life.
I shall start to build up my flying hours, with an eye to the (fearful) 14 hours it takes to get to Malaysia.
Because if that's what it takes to make the most of this wonderful playground called life, then that's the way it's going to have to be.