I skipped my flight from Miami to New York yesterday. I didn’t change my reservation…I simply didn’t show up. I even checked in, although that part was quite accidental, but I didn’t board.
“They’re probably calling my name right,” I said to my friend with a laugh, trying to appear more confident than I actually felt about the situation. If the Universe didn’t back me up on this one, I was going to be wasting my seat and having to pay for another one. Thanks to Winter Storm Pax, fares were gouging by the moment. Maybe I was exercising a little too much faith on this one and should have made a more logical decision, like going home.
Except there’s no such thing as too much faith. Logic and I are distant relatives several times removed who rarely communicate. I erased the word should from my vocabulary a long time ago. And home was about to begrudgingly welcome the aforementioned PAX. The decision had already been made. Getting to the airport, through security and to my gate in ten minutes didn’t seem terribly feasible so the only thing left to do was trust.
Rewind to earlier that morning. I’d awoken from a relatively scary dream about flying. In all my years of travel, I have never been afraid to fly, and if I have a nightmare once a year, it’s a lot. It didn’t help that I’d recently had a number of precognitive dreams. In one, I ordered a sandwich on fat bread from room service and the next day, my cousin arrived for lunch in real life with very thickly sliced bread to make sandwiches on. What if this dream was another case of fat bread?
I couldn’t chance it or ignore the blatant symbolism. In the dream, we were told the plane was all but inevitably going to crash. The woman who shared this information with us had dread in her voice and it scared the bejesus out of me. As they began showing emergency procedures, I realized we hadn’t actually taken off yet. What was wrong with these people? Why were they remaining on the plane? I grabbed my suitcase from the overhead bin and ran off, wondering why anyone would have chosen otherwise.
In real life, I could also choose not to be one of the crazy people on that flight, heading back to New York just in time for Pax. I hadn’t heard any official reports but all my friends who have become Facebook meteorologists this winter were making it sound like it was going to be pretty unpleasant, with a foot of snow and mixed precipitation.
I had spent the past week raising my vibration after enduring the first 582 snowstorms this winter. Those of you who know me know winter isn’t exactly my thing, even when it doesn’t snow every other day and the temperature occasionally rises above freezing. One snowflake away from insanity, a friend in Miami rescued me with an invite and unprecedented hospitality. I was just starting to feel like myself again. Did I really need to hurl myself immediately back into the circumstances I’d been struggling with if I had a choice?
Pass. Another friend extended an invitation and I accepted. I set an intention to change my flight at no fee, which I have done more times than most people believe. But when I went to work my magic with my airline, I was met with an unexpected response.
“Your current wait time is four…” Oh four minutes; that’s not too bad. Wait. Did that computerized voice just say four HOURS? They gave an option for me to provide my number and have a representative call me, which was the obvious choice. Except that extended my wait time to “at least” four hours. It’s been 26 and I’m still waiting for that call.
A few hours before my flight, as I perused the one way fares for the next several days, I started to panic a bit. The only normal ones were on Thursday, the day of the actual storm. Since spending hours on end and perhaps sleeping in an airport isn’t my idea of a fun time, I decided to hold out.
My friend suggested the airline’s app, which I promptly downloaded. I liked it better than the website but somehow, I accidentally managed to check myself in. Great. Now I was really screwed. On a night before a major storm, when people were desperately scrambling to change flights, it was very unlikely I was getting rewarded for leaving an empty seat on their plane. I didn’t even think I could change with a fee. It was officially inevitable: I was booking a new ticket and paying more for a one way ticket than I ever have for a roundtrip to Florida. That is, if I didn’t tap back into faith.
I can’t say I was swimming in it, but I told two friends the story of a time I slept through a flight and while I was in scarcity thinking, was not a match to the amazing deal I eventually received when I pulled up my vibration. That could happen again. It wasn’t going to happen while I was stressing, so I stopped. I asked what time check in was at my next friend’s home and enjoyed an outdoor dinner in a thunderstorm and a great conversation. Nature and my friend helped me raise my energy again.
Late that night, during a commercial break in the Olympics, I picked up my phone and opened the app. It hadn’t been a premeditated action, but more like how I used to unconsciously open Facebook any time I had to wait on a line for over three seconds. That’s why I no longer have that app installed. I realized I had my phone in my hand and was just about to close the app when the words on my screen caught the attention of the conscious part of my brain. My flight had been delayed. And apparently they were offering me an opportunity to reschedule.
Figuring it was a mistake, I clicked my options. I had to book a flight on Thursday, which would likely be cancelled, or call Delta and wait four hours to speak to a representative who would figure out that this was a glitch in the system. I booked a flight for the morning, just to see if it would work. As impossible as it seemed considering the flight they were letting me rebook had already landed (safely) in New York, it did. So I did a little dance of gratitude and called Delta. I only had to wait about 40 minutes and the representative changed my flight to Sunday. No questions asked. No charge.
Keep the faith, people. Keep the faith.