It Could Be Worse
It’s been quite a travel day. The 9:00 a.m. airport shuttle has been the only bright spot. Since then, my afternoon flight from Florence to Paris was delayed, causing me to miss my connecting flight from Paris to Michigan, and then home. It took about two hours to be re-routed, plus a couple more hours to board. Now, I’m headed to Los Angeles and then home.
I find my row and motion to the passenger already sitting in the aisle seat to let him know that I’m his neighbor. He stands. “Hello,” I say. He nods. I sit. I greet my window seat neighbor who avoids eye contact. Not sure if he said something or just grunted.
So, here I sit. Tired. Hungry. Planted in this cramped space that seems to be shrinking. Wondering how I’m going to get through the next eight and a half hours. The seat back monitors are down. An announcement explains that the system is being rebooted.
I ask window guy a clarifying question and get, “I think so.” That ends up being the extent of our conversation for the entire flight. Even when he sneezed and I blessed him. Nothing. And, BTW, he could use a breath mint.
After cruising for a while, I realize that since leaving Castello Sonnino this morning, I’ve eaten half a panini and a bag of chips. I have a baby headache that I don’t want to grow up, so I rifle through my backpack for some Advil and take two. My phone battery is low, and I’ve mistakenly left the charger in my checked bag, so escaping into a favorite playlist isn’t an option.
At this point, an unfamiliar wave of anxiety builds in my head. I’m usually the calm, cool, and collected one; the spouse, mom, grandma, and leader ready with an “Everything will be fine” message in challenging situations, often paired with, “It could be worse.” I seriously consider never uttering those sentiments again.
The rebooted monitors pop up and there, in large, happy font with an airplane icon, I see: Time to destination: ten and a half hours. Ten and a half? It dawns on me that I had stamped in my brain the total travel time from Paris to my original destination. This new flight will be roughly three hours longer. Then, another flight home will depart six hours after this one arrives.
Reviewing what’s ahead creates a perfect storm of stress and dread. It’s not that I don’t like flying; it’s the fact that this itinerary doesn’t remotely resemble the one I booked – one I had carefully researched and selected months ago based on duration, price, layovers and seat selection. Instead, I’ve become a shelved book wedged between “refuses to smile” and “needs-a-mint” on a journey that’s twice as long than expected.
Oh yeah. It could be worse. How exactly? I’m not sure.
Gradually, stress-free thoughts of the past week spent with other LMU Lions, leaders and locals come to the rescue. I reflect on the stunning Tuscan landscapes with rolling green hills, perfectly aligned rows of olive trees, and white puffy clouds populating the blue sky. I recall the sounds, tastes and scents we were in tune with and slowly, each memory reins in the anxiety.
My thoughts also land on our visit to Certosa di Firenze, a 14th-century monastery. And that’s when it hits me. I could be a man in a confined monastery space. No freedom to come and go as I please, to eat what I want when I want or to travel. I’d be expected to pray and read scriptures all day. BINGO! I discovered how it could be worse.
The calming realization opened the door to thankful thoughts. I was already thankful for the gift of having the health, time and means to take this trip, but reflecting on it sharpened my appreciation. I was grateful for the opportunity to create memories in a beautiful, historic Tuscan estate with new friends. I recognized that this detour would fade, but the overall Alumni Alternative Break experience would continue to soar long after this aircraft landed.