After countless flights over the course of my life, it was inevitable, really. In fact, it's pretty remarkable that I made it so long without having had a flight cancelled. My six-year-old, who'd had a lovely week on the Gulf of Mexico but was ready to go home, burst into tears as our little family of four regrouped on a plastic sofa. It was Wednesday. The next flight, unbelievable though it may seem, wasn't until Sunday. And while four extra days of vacation sounds great in theory, my head swam with rapidly-growing figures as I tried to calculate the costs. We made our way to each airline counter in the tiny airport: Did they have any flights leaving tonight? Oh yes, sir. Of course, ma'am. At three times the cost of our tickets/with a 2am layover/going to an airport three hours from home. Would we like to reserve those?
My daughter's crying intensified. We had to get home. My husband had work. I had my mother's eightieth birthday party. We had dogs and a new school year waiting for us. In the silence that passed between us as my husband and I locked eyes, I think I already knew the plan before he even spoke.
"We could drive."
My daughter's crying intensified. We had to get home. My husband had work. I had my mother's eightieth birthday party. We had dogs and a new school year waiting for us. In the silence that passed between us as my husband and I locked eyes, I think I already knew the plan before he even spoke.
"We could drive."
And that is how, at 9:30 on a Wednesday night, I found myself in an unfamiliar minivan on the highway, eating Wendy's from a paper bag. The trip would be 1, 129 miles with two young children. As we'd waited for the rental at the airport, we began formulating logistics. I Googled car seat laws, browsed TripAdvisor hotel reviews, and mapped out a tentative route. Gosh, we were going to be headed right through some beautiful mountains. Some enormous forests. Some national parks. Wait.
Could this be something?
We had to make the drive anyway. We were already losing time, already spending money that we hadn't budgeted. Instead of a necessary drudgery, could we actually make it fun? Could it be...a gift? An unplanned family road trip has everything going against it. It shouldn't work. Yet, I saw the potential. The potential for me to step up and embrace this curveball with grace and humor. To come together as a family and make the best of a less-than-ideal situation. To practice surrendering to life's unpredictability with a sense of trust and goodwill. My husband and I began referring to our drive as an "adventure," and that was all it took for the kids to buy in. What cancelled flight? We were adventurers, and we were off to see our country!
Could this be something?
We had to make the drive anyway. We were already losing time, already spending money that we hadn't budgeted. Instead of a necessary drudgery, could we actually make it fun? Could it be...a gift? An unplanned family road trip has everything going against it. It shouldn't work. Yet, I saw the potential. The potential for me to step up and embrace this curveball with grace and humor. To come together as a family and make the best of a less-than-ideal situation. To practice surrendering to life's unpredictability with a sense of trust and goodwill. My husband and I began referring to our drive as an "adventure," and that was all it took for the kids to buy in. What cancelled flight? We were adventurers, and we were off to see our country!
To be fair, we were working on a timeline, so it was mostly driving. But we made a few strategic stops over the next two days. We hiked a mile into a national forest to see a spectacular waterfall. We climbed to the highest point in Georgia and took in the view among the clouds. We drove the serpentine Skyline Drive, making sure to get a photo of my daughter's beloved Piggy perched atop Hogback Mountain. The hotels weren't fancy, and neither was the food. We had to get creative and be flexible in lots of unexpected ways. But as my younger daughter slipped her hand in mine, taking in the magic of the untouched woods around us and whispered, "I think this is even better than a plane ride," I was reminded that all the planning in the world doesn't compare to the beauty of seizing the moment before us. Even when it isn't at all what we pictured.
Teaching is an exercise in unpredictability. As I prepare for a new school year, I carry this summer's unexpected road trip in my heart, knowing that even my most painstaking plans are subject to the fickle nature of life. This year, I challenge myself to make the shift in my perspective. Could this be something? Can I be the adventurer?
Where is the waterfall in the cancelled flight?
Where is the waterfall in the cancelled flight?
