tales of wander

It’s time to go home. If I’m being totally honest, I was ready to go home when the bedbugs happened, despite having enjoyed myself since then. So, I’m happy when the big travel day finally arrives. I get to the airport and the woman at the Finnair counter tells me she can’t check my bags through to my final destination because she can’t see that flight in the system. She said this is “probably because it’s operated by British Airways (BA).” This occasionally happens, so it raises no particular alarm bells. I will just have to pick up my bag in Heathrow and re-check it, but thankfully I have time in my layover to do that.

I go through two Finnair flights with no incident. Then, I get to Heathrow, where the final leg of my journey is supposed to begin. I pick up my bag and show up at the BA check-in line to get my boarding pass. At that point, I become the potato in a game of “hot potato.” BA says they “can’t see me or my flight in the system” and it must be because Finnair is operating the flight. If you recall, Finnair said the same thing because they are not operating the flight—in fact, they’re not even in the building because they have no flights running until evening (long after I’m scheduled to depart). I’m in airport limbo—I can’t go forward without a boarding pass, but I can’t go backward either.

I’m turned away from the BA counter twice to “go talk to Finnair” before I reappear a third time and refuse to leave. Finally, I get someone who’s willing to look deeper into the issue. The man begins typing away at a rapid pace as I stand there patiently, feeling like hours are going by as he goes deeper and deeper into an electronic rabbit hole. 

Finally, he looks up and says “You haven’t received any contact from the airline?” 
Me: “Um, no.” 
Him: “Finnair didn’t say anything when you checked in this morning?” 
Me: “They said they ‘couldn’t see my flight.’” 

He looks at his computer and continues his rapid typing. I can’t stand the suspense any longer and say “What’s going on?!” 

Him (still typing): “That flight was eliminated.” 
[long pause as I wait for him to say more, then give up]
Me: “What does that even mean?” 
Him (still typing): “Exactly what it sounds like.”

I’m stupefied (or gobsmacked, since I’m in London). He eventually stops typing long enough to say more words. Apparently, they “can’t see me or my flight” in the system because the flight no longer exists that day. Further, there are no alternative flights available through BA.

In a trip that felt like it was going “too smoothly” just a few weeks ago, this is now the second “first” in all of my years of travel. Yes, flights do get eliminated sometimes, but you’re informed of the change and you work it out with the airline or your agent. But to actually get this far on an itinerary without hearing a peep about it? This never happens. 

Until, of course, it does.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while (at least the last several years), you know I’ve had some challenging years since the pandemic. I alluded to that fact in my first post when I explained yet another home disaster that preceded this trip. I’m usually an optimistic person, but these challenges have made it hard not to feel as though I live under a dark cloud of never-ending bad luck. My dad used to talk about this like it was a family curse. Naturally, I know this isn’t actually true (it just feels that way sometimes), but it’s still something that lurks in the back of my mind. In this moment, the “why do these things always happen to me” refrain played its familiar tune.

Then a new thought entered my mind. 

On every trip I take, I select reading for my travel. Sometimes the book is about the area or culture I’m visiting, but sometimes it’s just general reading I want to do. On this trip, I read a book called “Languishing,” which is about the “often overlooked mental state between flourishing and depression.” It’s a mental state that became more widely recognized during the pandemic and something I’ve pondered a lot over the last several years as I try to reorganize my life to lean more heavily toward “flourishing.” There was a passage in the book that really stuck with me. I thought about it when the bedbugs happened and again in the airport: 

“[When] adversity arrives on our doorstep again and again over the course of our lives, our job is to welcome the [feelings that come with it] and treat them with the respect they deserve. They are our guests; eventually they will depart.

Adversity can be useful; it helps us clear out what no longer serves us well… like all guests, [it] will eventually leave when we have experienced it, listened to it, faced whatever it’s stirred up inside of us. Then, and only then, that guest will have served its purpose. If it visits us again, it is no longer something to fear. It is known. You will have grown.”

The “firsts” that happened on this trip—my unwelcome guests—had their little visit, made themselves known, and like all good guests, they eventually left. How did their stories end, you ask? The bedbugs: finally, enough time has passed that I feel assured I’m not carrying them with me. You can still see some of the bite marks all over my body—like a little breadcrumb trail of where they’ve been—but, they are healing. The flight: I had to fly with a different airline. I was put on a flight that I had to sprint through Heathrow to make, then when it landed, I had to get through customs and sprint to make another connection for which I didn’t even have a guaranteed seat. It was an exceptionally bad travel day, but I’m now home to deal with the last guest in my latest string of visitors—the house full of holes. This guest will leave soon, too—and then, they will all be known. 

I’ve always prioritized experiences over things. It’s why I love travel so much—it offers so many new experiences, so many opportunities to learn something new. Maybe I’m on the road to convincing myself  that adversity is just that: a new experience. Only time will tell.

Thank you for joining me in yet another occasionally challenging—but mostly lovely, wonderful experience. Until next time…