I've never been comfortable with the "diminishing odds" concept, preferring to venture forth each day anew, considering that when I board a big silver bird, the odds of uncontrolled descent into terrain/water remain the same as they were yesterday, long.

Now, when it comes to prop-driven commuter birds operated by modest shell corporations, and flown by flight crews who appear disheveled, nerdy and all too young, I consider the odds much shorter, reach to touch my once efficacious St. Christoper, and cross myself an extra time. RJs fall into the in between.

Long ago, I compiled a modest log on landings (a handful at night), cat shots conventional rolling takeoffs, and comings and goings by helo aboard/from one of Uncle Sam's seagoing air terminals (an old one, left over from WWII, far less "safe" than today's behemoths). Contemplating those odds makes it unlikely that I'd seek to attempt those evolutions again.

On the other hand, death or disfigurement are far more likely whilst driving to the airport.