The apartment was still dark when the phone rang.

Christina was sitting at the dining room table, reading her Bible by candlelight, while I stood in the brightly lit bathroom with a pair of clippers in my hand, halfway through giving myself a haircut.

Christina walked in holding my phone; she looked a little confused.

“It’s Holly,” she said.

Holly was the travel agent my company uses for work trips.

I answered the phone, and Holly asked a question that made even less sense than the early hour.

“Are you by chance already at the airport?”

I looked at the clippers in my hand, then at Christina.

“No,” I said. “We’re not leaving for a while.”

Our flight out of Louisville wasn’t scheduled to depart until 10:13 that morning, and we had an Uber scheduled to pick us up at 7:00. I had gotten up early to finish packing a few last-minute things and give myself a quick haircut before we left.

Holly began to explain what was going on.

“Your flight’s been canceled. But I found another one with two seats left that leaves at 8 am.”

Standing there in the bathroom with half a haircut and clippers still warm in my hand, I started doing mental math. Time to finish the haircut. Time to shower. Time to pack the last few items. Time to get dressed. Time to get to the airport. Time for airport processes and getting to our gate.

“I’m not sure we’ll make an 8 o’clock flight,” I told Holly. “But we’ll start making our way to the airport.”

Holly agreed to keep working on things while we made our way to the airport.

Before I was even off the phone, Christina quietly started getting ready. I hung up and rushed to finish my haircut. I was already too committed to stop, and there was no way I was going to the airport looking like I had quit halfway through.

I cancelled the Uber scheduled for 7:00 and ordered one for now. I showered and dressed while Christina finished packing last-minute items.

The Uber arrived, and we made it out the door a little before 6.

A few minutes later, as our Uber pulled out of our neighborhood, Holly called again.

“Good news.” She said, “Your 8 o’clock flight has been delayed until 10.”

Suddenly, there was no reason to rush.

I laughed. Christina smiled. We both just shook our heads.

The morning was just getting started.

When we arrived at the airport, we checked our bag, breezed through security, and settled into seats near our gate. One last detail before the long wait for our flight to board: coffee.

Our itinerary was simple enough:

Louisville to Atlanta.
Atlanta to Amsterdam.
Amsterdam to Venice.

But around 9:30, we noticed something strange. The gate area felt unusually quiet for a flight that should be boarding right now.

I checked the airline app and realized there had been a gate change. Except, we didn’t remember hearing an announcement.

We grabbed our bags and jogged to the new gate. Which, fortunately, wasn’t far.

That’s when the delays started.

First one.

Then another.

And another.

By 11:30, our flight had been pushed back to 3:30 in the afternoon.

Our flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam was scheduled to depart at 4:00.

There was no way we were making it.

I called Holly again and explained the situation. She told me to stand by.

About five minutes later, she called back.

“Did you check a bag?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to need to get it back. I’m switching carriers.” She replied.

Christina and I don’t normally check bags. In fact, in the five years we’ve been traveling internationally together, this was the first time we had a bag to check. And neither of us had any idea of the process of retrieving it after it was checked.

Holly made it sound easy, though. “Just get with the gate agent, and they’ll take care of it for you.” She said.

We looked up at our gate and saw a line about thirty people deep waiting to speak with the agent behind the desk.

Holly said, “Just get in line. I’ll call you back with additional information once I have it.” Christina and I looked at each other with the same thought: “This is going to take a while.”

Rather than both of us waiting in line, I told Christina to wait in the line while I walked over to a nearby gate where another agent was finishing boarding a flight.

She was on the phone and helping last-minute passengers, so I waited until she finished before approaching.

When she finally looked up and asked what I needed, I explained our situation.

She said she could help — but I’d need to wait until she finished boarding.

A few minutes later, she asked for our flight details and a description of our luggage, then confirmed what we needed to do next: “Go to baggage claim, your bag will be delivered there.” She told me.

I’m certain the look on my face said it all. I knew exactly what going to baggage claim meant.

As Christina and I walked out of the secure area, I remember thinking to myself:

I can’t believe we’re doing this.

We hadn’t even left Louisville yet, and we were already rearranging airlines, reclaiming luggage, and starting the airport process all over again.

At baggage claim, we stood there looking at each other, wondering where the bag would appear. Neither of us had ever had to do this.

Would it come out on the carousel?
Somewhere else?
Would someone bring it to us?

Do any of the people around us work here?

Who do we ask for help?

Eventually, Christina noticed an airport worker dropping bags off at the oversized baggage area. She walked over and asked if he might have ours.

He asked for a description, then said that he would check and be back in five minutes.

About five minutes later, he returned — not to the oversized baggage area — but walking it directly out to us.

For a moment, the whole morning paused.

After all the scrambling and delays, it was a small act of kindness that felt unexpectedly personal. A small delight in a morning of chaos.

Then the pause ended.

We grabbed the bag, thanked the gentleman, went upstairs, checked it with the new airline, and made our way back through security for the second time that morning.

Side note: If you travel often and don’t have TSA Pre-Check, you’re missing out. Big time!

Back in the secure area, we took a moment to review our new itinerary:

Louisville to Chicago.
Chicago to Munich.
Munich to Venice.

Everything was later. So, we decided that after all that chaos, we deserved lunch before heading to the new gate. Chili’s fajitas and chips n salsa for the win.

Then, it was off to our gate to once again wait.

But even that flight had its share of delays. First one, then another.

I texted Holly and let her know what was happening. She asked if the plane had arrived, and I told her it hadn’t. She told me she was tracking it and that it would be there shortly.

When the plane finally arrived, the pilot stepped off and told the gate agent we wouldn’t be boarding for yet another hour.

Christina and I looked at each other with the same thought. “Really?”

But after about 20 minutes, the gate agent announced that boarding would begin, and we eventually boarded.

When the plane pushed back from the gate and began taxiing, it felt like the trip was finally beginning.

I didn’t say it out loud, but there was a quiet thought sitting in the cabin with us.

What if we don’t make it to Venice at all?

We had been there once before, in 2023, and it had quickly become one of our favorite places in the world. The thought that travel chaos might keep us from getting back was hard to shake.

Later, Christina told me the same thought had crossed her mind, too. But she had already made peace with it.

If we didn’t make it to Venice, she figured there must be a good reason for it.

Still, she was glad we were finally on our way.

From Chicago onward, the trip smoothed out.

Our flight to Munich was overnight, and somewhere over the North Atlantic, the long day of travel finally gave way to the next morning.

Connections lined up.
Flights departed on time.

And eventually, just after 12:30 the next day, our plane touched down in Venice.

As the wheels hit the runway and the engines roared in reverse, I turned to Christina and smiled.

“We’re in Venice, baby.”

We both smiled at the thought. The day we left didn’t go according to plan by any stretch of the imagination. But we still made it. And we were in Venice.

As the plane taxied to the gate, I found myself thinking about the last 36 hours. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how easy it is to get tunnel vision when things don’t go according to plan—how quickly stress can take over and make everything feel worse than it is.

But if you step back for a moment and stay calm, you start to see it differently. It’s not about everything going wrong. It’s about figuring out what you can control, letting go of what you can’t, and working the next step in front of you.

Along the way, we found people willing to help at just the right moments—we just had to be patient enough to let them.

As I sat there, I realized something simple: travel has a way of testing you. It challenges how you respond when things don’t go according to plan —often in not-so-gentle ways —and shows you that focusing on what you can control and taking the next step in front of you is often what gets you where you’re trying to go—even if the journey looks nothing like you expected.

Adventure, On Purpose.