Getting There

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. The sink was already covered with hair, and I was turned away from the mirror, using a small hand mirror to see the back of my head. That’s when it happened.

Christina walked into the bathroom holding my phone; she looked a little confused.

“It’s Holly,” she said.

Holly was the travel agent our 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 already at the airport?”

I looked at the clippers in my hand.

“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 explained what was going on.

Our flight had been canceled.

But she had found two seats on another flight leaving at 8:00.

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.

Louisville is a small airport, and with TSA PreCheck, security wasn’t really the concern.

Everything else was.

I told Holly the 8:00 flight would probably be tight, but we’d work on getting to the airport while she worked on options.

Christina quietly started getting ready while I rushed to finish the 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 canceled the Uber scheduled for 7:00 and ordered one immediately.

Somewhere in the middle of the rush, Christina looked at my finished haircut and said I had actually done a pretty good job considering the circumstances.

We made it out the door around 5:45.

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

The 8:00 am flight had been delayed.

Until 10:00 am.

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 large bag, went through security, and settled into seats near our gate.

Our original itinerary was simple enough:

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

But around 9:30 am, we noticed something strange. The gate area felt unusually quiet for a flight that should have been boarding.

I checked the airline app and realized there had been an unannounced gate change.

We grabbed our bags and jogged to the new gate.

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 with new instructions.

She was switching us to another airline.

But first, we needed to retrieve our checked bag.

Which meant leaving the secure area.

At our gate, a line about thirty people deep waited to speak with the agent behind the desk. Rather than wait, Christina stepped into 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.

We would have to leave security and retrieve the bag at baggage claim.

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 weren’t even sure where the bag would appear.

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

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 and said he’d check.

About five minutes later, he returned — not dropping the bag on the oversized belt — 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.

Then the pause ended.

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

Now the new itinerary looked like this:

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

Everything was later, so we stopped for lunch before heading to the new gate.

But even that flight had its share of delays. When the plane finally arrived, the pilot stepped off and told the gate agent we wouldn’t be boarding for another hour.

Eventually, though, we did board.

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

Neither of us said 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.

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 along the way 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.”

The day we left didn’t go as planned.

But it wasn’t about everything going wrong. It was about figuring out what we could control, letting go of what we couldn’t, and working the next step in front of us.

Along the way, there were people willing to help at just the right moments. All we had to do was be patient enough to let them.

Travel has a way of reminding you that you can’t control everything.

But you can control how you respond.

And sometimes, that’s what gets you where you’re trying to go.

Adventure, On Purpose.

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