In our family it is common to confront changing circumstances that are not turning out quite the way one might hope with the mantra “I am a leaf on the wind.” Firefly fans will recognize that, in context, the incantation is not quite so sanguine as it sounds (and yes, Firefly fans will also appreciate how I slipped “sanguine” in there). It is, regardless, a recognition that any hopes or plans we have are subject to forces in the universe far beyond our ability to control. And that sometimes, the best you can do is hang on for the ride and look for whatever opportunities for gratitude and companionship you can in the storm.

This morning’s maneuvering to make it those final couple of miles to the airport wasn’t precisely a “storm.” A gentle gust or two at worst. But it did throw me off balance enough that it took me a few tries to grasp for the opportunities there were to find gratitude in the journey.

I should back up: both Devon and I are eastbound this weekend. Me this morning to Boston, where I’ll pick up a rental car to visit a couple of friends and then settle into a week of intense geeking out with shipboard techie friends at the Research Vessel Technology Enhancement Committee meeting in New Hampshire. These folks, aside from being folks I’ve sailed, drank and swapped stories with (oh, the stories!), are the main audience for that software project I’ve been working on for roughly the past decade. More about that later.

Devon is taking the day in town (meaning Seattle) to explore some glass studios that are open as part of the Refract show this weekend. Then hopping a flight to Atlanta tomorrow to spend the week at an intensive set of meetings and workshops with Forward Global, looking at social justice issues in the US.

Rather than driving down crazy early this morning (probably leaving the farm around 3 a.m.), D booked us a place in town by the airport, complete with an airport shuttle, so I could sneak out at oh-dark-thirty and let her snooze in simple, quiet luxury.

I won’t shame the hotel chain in question by naming it, but it was clear this morning at oh-dark-forty-five that there was a little problem: the shuttle that showed up was a nice little minivan, and there were roughly a dozen of us downstairs in the parking lot queued for our ride. We’d all apparently given our departure times to the front desk, and we all had flights to catch. A few of us stepped back, and a few others dove on in, and it seemed that the situation would resolve itself, until there was one seat left open, and two people claiming it. Both said they needed to board because their spouse/daughter was already on the shuttle. And the driver, probably out of self-preservation, seemed uninclined to step into the fray. Meanwhile, no one was going anywhere.

Me? I was traveling carry-on, with PreCheck, and had almost two hours before I needed to be aboard. I was a leaf on the wind.

At some point the hotel’s night manager came out and apologized for the mess. Apparently there was a larger shuttle somewhere, but no one could find the keys. She made a big show of telling the driver that he needed to Go Now, regardless of who was on, and come back as quickly as possible. With Solomon’s judgment proclaimed, the daughter clambered off, the husband clambered on, the van roared off, and the nice couple from Oklahoma who had stepped back in concert with me retired into the lobby to smile and shake our heads at the kerfluffle. 

I popped my phone open and checked the cost of a Lyft. One minute away and less than the cost of a sandwich. Well worth it to take that unknown out of the equation. (Also, I have to admit that the passengers’ behavior and driver’s performance in the parking lot left me uncertain just how quickly he’d actually be back for the rest of us. I told the Okie couple that I’d be glad to have their company if they wished to share the ride with me, and we stepped outside.

The funny thing (this is “Type II funny”, only humorous in retrospect), is that the shuttle, apparently with young Mario Andretti at the wheel, came tearing back into the parking lot before my Lyft arrived. The nice couple gave me an apologetic look, hoisted their luggage onto the shuttle, and wished me well.

I should have joined them, I know I should have, but there was that sunk cost fallacy at play: I’d be paying whatever pittance Lyft charges for canceled rides, so I couldn’t back out, right? Right. I eventually found my ride around the corner, having pulled into the wrong parking lot and waiting with growing impatience for his absent rider.

Short story: I made it to the airport. I waved a little plastic card at a glowing box to purchase a delicious-if-a-little-soggy spicy chicken wrap. I held my phone – itself an inconceivable marvel of technology – up for the gate attendant to register, then plonked myself down in a comfy chair aboard a pressurized metal tube that will deliver me, with drinks and in-flight wifi to the entire opposite coast of this country (formerly a perilous five month journey at best) in less time than it would take to watch half a season of Ted Lasso. Which, by the way, is exactly what I am doing rather than working on my slides. I am a leaf on the freakin wind.