There was a moment before the helicopter took off, my hands pawing along the perimeters of the hole in the side of the aircraft where a door should have been, when I truly felt like I understood regret. I regretted pitching a story about extreme shoe selfies. I regretted agreeing to test out the helicopter photo service that promised “a #shoeselfie” opp as one of its main features. I regretted not pushing back when the shoe brand that had sponsored the trip asked me to wear a popular pair of stilettos for the trip instead of the sensible flats I had initially picked out — heels so delicate, my nervous self had trouble on flat land, nevermind the floor of a doorless helicopter (did I mention that the thing doesn’t have doors?). I regretted sitting in the seat closest to the door hole. I regretted not putting deodorant on my hands, which were sweating so hard, I had trouble working my phone, which was the entire point of this stupid, stupid, stupid flight in the first place.