The Joys of Flying, Chapter 2

 I suspect that anyone who travels with any regularity would have anticipated a Chapter 2 after reading the last piece. Travel stories, like farm stories, can be quite unpredictable.

Going into January, I’d already experienced a fair amount of anxiety about my schedule, largely because it involved far more travel than I normally enjoy. To cope with that, I did what any reasonable person does when faced with uncertainty: I tried to convince myself it was an adventure. That may have been optimism. It may have been denial. It may have simply been my brain doing whatever it needed to do to keep the anxiety at bay. Call it what you will, but “adventure” sounded far better than “logistical nightmare.”

Picking up where I left off last time, we did in fact make it to Gander, Newfoundland. Because we arrived a day early, we found ourselves with time to kill before the conference started. On Monday, a bright, sunny day, we rented a car and went exploring. Even in winter, the scenery was stunning. And it beat the heck out of sitting in a hotel room pretending to enjoy cable news.

The Newfoundland and Labrador Federation of Agriculture put on a great conference. I met a lot of new people, had meaningful conversations about mental wellbeing, and even sold a few books. All in all, it reminded me why I say yes to these events in the first place.

Then Friday morning arrived, and we headed back to the Gander airport. The plan was to spend a couple of days in Halifax before my next event in Toronto early the following week. That’s when the airline sent me an email helpfully suggesting that my flights might be impacted by an approaching snowstorm. I remember thinking, Well of course they might. I checked the forecast and, on paper at least, it looked like we could slip out just ahead of the storm.

As we waited at the Gander airport, the notifications started rolling in. Delay. Another delay. And then, three hours after our scheduled departure, the flight was cancelled. Back to the hotel we went, carrying our bags and a growing list of unanswered questions about what came next.

We did manage to leave the following day, though our Halifax plans were officially toast. Still, we were able to get out of Halifax just ahead of the next storm, which by this point felt less like good planning and more like accidental luck.

We did eventually arrive in Toronto, got to our destination, and spent time with the Canadian Nursery and Landscape Association. It was a different crowd than I usually speak to, though still very much my people, just with more trees and fewer livestock. The conversations were familiar: tight timelines, unpredictable conditions, financial pressures, and the constant feeling of trying to stay one step ahead. Different industries, same stress. As I often say, stress has an uncanny ability to find us, regardless of what business we’re in.

Then, finally, it was off to the airport for our last destination: home. Looking back on the previous twelve days, I can honestly say it was an adventure—just not the kind I originally had in mind. We took six different flights, spent roughly twenty-five hours waiting in airports, and devoted a truly impressive amount of mental energy to worrying about things that never actually happened. And yet, despite my best efforts to catastrophize, we made it home safely. As I had been telling myself from the start, this was going to be an adventure. Turns out the only real turbulence was happening in my own head.

Looking back, the real lesson had very little to do with weather systems, flight schedules, or how many hours a person can reasonably be expected to sit in an airport chair without questioning their life choices. It had everything to do with anxiety, control, and the stories we tell ourselves when plans begin to unravel. Calling the trip an “adventure” was my way of managing the unease that came with a packed schedule and so much uncertainty, a small attempt to feel like I was still in charge of something. In reality, any illusion of control disappeared with the first cancelled flight. What remained was choice: how much energy I gave to frustration, how loudly I let anxiety speak, and what meaning I attached to the experience. The travel chaos didn’t change, but my response to it did. And sometimes, that’s the only part of the journey we actually get to steer.

The Joys of Flying

 This winter has found me travelling more than usual. For the most part, that is a good thing. I enjoy the work, and it helps the long winter days go by a little faster. There is something energizing about being on the move, meeting people, and having purpose beyond watching the thermometer hover well below zero.

That said, travel is rarely without its challenges.

I was scheduled to leave for Newfoundland on Sunday morning at 8:00. On Friday afternoon, just as I was wrapping up the week, a text popped up from the airline. My flight had been cancelled, and I had been rebooked, automatically, for Monday evening. Panic kicked in almost immediately. That simply wasn’t going to work, if I was going to make it to Gander in time for my event.

Originally, the itinerary had me flying from Winnipeg to Montreal, then on to Halifax, and finally into Gander. After the airline made their changes, my new plan was to fly from Winnipeg to Toronto on Monday evening, sit in Toronto overnight, then catch a Tuesday morning flight to Halifax. So far, so good. The problem was that they had somehow kept my Halifax-to-Gander flight scheduled for Monday. Confused yet? I certainly was.

The truly humorous part was that the itinerary showed the total duration of my trip as minus 35 minutes. According to the airline, I wasn’t just travelling east, I was travelling through time. I was going to arrive before I left.

But I digress.

As soon as I got the notice on Friday, I started calling the airline. Unfortunately, due to widespread cancellations, I couldn’t get through. The website showed other possible flight options, but I needed to speak with an actual human being to make any changes. After hours of trying and getting nowhere, I finally gave up late that evening and went to bed, frustrated and more than a little anxious.

Early Saturday morning, I was back on the phone. This time, it didn’t take long before I reached an agent. He also got a kick out of my time-travel itinerary, which was reassuring in its own odd way. More importantly, he was genuinely helpful. The challenge, though, was that many of the flights that still had open seats the day before were now fully booked. Options were slim, except for one.

If I was willing to fly that very evening, we could make it work. Needless to say, I was willing.

The reason for all the cancellations, it turned out, was a major storm system moving into and across eastern Canada. That part was entirely legitimate. Weather was about to wreak havoc on travel plans across multiple provinces.

And here’s where I learned, or perhaps was reminded of, an important lesson. Sometimes when things don’t work out the way I want them to, there seems to be a reason. If I had managed to connect with an agent on Friday, I likely would have rebooked for Sunday later in the day. Based on the forecast, that would almost certainly have left me stuck in either Toronto or Halifax, both of which were bracing for massive snowfall. Because I couldn’t get through and had to wait, my revised travel plans now had me staying just ahead of the storm.

I’ve written about this before. In my book, I tell a story about a rock in the road, an obstacle that caused real hardship in the moment but ultimately saved me from a potential disaster. This experience felt much the same. I was frustrated. I experienced significant anxiety. But at the end of the day, things worked out far better than I could have hoped for.

Sometimes the delay isn’t the problem. Sometimes it’s the thing that quietly keeps you out of trouble, even when it doesn’t feel that way at the time. In the moment, all I could see was the inconvenience, the uncertainty, and the rising anxiety of not knowing how, or if, I’d get where I needed to be. But with a little distance, it became clear that the delay forced a different set of choices, ones that likely spared me from being stranded, exhausted, and frustrated somewhere along the way. It was a reminder that not every obstacle is a roadblock. Some are detours that protect us, even when we don’t recognize their value until we’re well past them.

It was a reminder that my first reaction isn’t always my wisest one, and that anxiety, while loud, isn’t always accurate. Sometimes what feels like a setback is simply a pause, one that gives me space to notice my patterns, loosen my grip on control, and trust that the path forward doesn’t always reveal itself on my timeline. Recovery, I’ve learned, isn’t about eliminating uncertainty, but about learning how to live with it a little more gently.