The best laid plans
A recent Forbes magazine article called “How to Plan Your Life, When You Can’t Plan Your Life” explains how to thrive in uncertain times. The future is getting harder to predict, careers no longer progress in a straight line and planning your way to success isn’t working anymore, Forbes says. It’s time for a new strategy: take one small step, learn from it, take another step.
I flew to the Netherlands in March with a tightly packed calendar in my pocket. We had spent weeks arranging it: my dad called cousins in Friesland. Twelve-year-old Robin read Anne Frank and booked tickets online to tour the famous Huis. After a short stopover in Ireland, the three of us would meet my sister Sarah, who had a direct flight from the States. We were excited to see the places and some of the people from Dad’s childhood, the stories we grew up hearing about Holland.
Snowstorm Emma, the “Beast from the East,” completely trashed those lovely plans. We landed Thursday, March 1 in Dublin for a four-hour layover, not dreaming we’d be stranded there the next four days instead. It was only snowing lightly at first, though the terminal was strangely empty. We checked the departures screen and kept an eye on the news as reporters warned in dire tones of “temperatures as low as minus 1,” which made us snicker. Then our connecting flight to Amsterdam was cancelled, and we were handed a sheet of paper that apologized for the inconvenience of the whole airport shutting down . . . until Saturday! I couldn’t quite believe it, until a kindly security guard explained, “We don’t get much snow in Ireland. We just can’t handle it. Have a Guinness, love, and you’ll cheer rooight up.”
The moment that flight was cancelled, our plans were worthless. There were no relatives here to greet us. I hadn’t set up my phone for Ireland. Instead of being Welcome Guests we became People Who Stand in Line. The line-up to get assigned to a hotel took over two hours. A bus brought us to the village of Clondalkin, the snow coming sideways now. Put your luggage in this room. Wait over here until we call you to register. Please hold while we see if there are any available flights to Amsterdam tomorrow. Line up for a meal voucher. Line up for the buffet. Line up for a room key. Bed.
The next morning an email on my phone gave more bad news: our new flight had been cancelled. Outside our window, the only movement in the snowy landscape was one man hacking patiently at the snow with a metal garden shovel. He came out later with a broom, and Robin made a sketch entitled “No snow shovels in Ireland.” It felt good to laugh.
I spent most of Friday trying to buy a third set of airline tickets. Sarah sent updates from Amsterdam: people were skating on canals! Dad called Holland again and again to cancel things: tickets, visits, rentals. The hotel was packed with other waylaid travellers – airport refugees, as I started thinking of us. People paced around the lobby a lot, where cell phone reception was the clearest. We were all trying to get somewhere else.
Act, learn, reach out
I left Toronto hoping for a holiday, not fodder for an editorial. I really didn’t appreciate another reminder of how the best-laid plans can dissolve so quickly. Airport refugees have a few small things in common with real refugees, I think – like being dependent on the kindness of strangers. Normal things like finding food take so much time. We were grieving the loss of our old plans while trying to make new ones. Circumstances that were “nothing personal” affected us mightily. It was enormously expensive. A scarcity mindset was prevalent. We fell for rumours, got good advice, took bad advice. There was a sense of unreality the whole time, because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be!
We eventually acquired a third set of tickets for Sunday night. Our six days in Holland had been chopped down to two.
“I am never coming back to Dublin again,” Robin said emphatically as our plane finally, finally departed, after a nail-biting hour-long delay.
“Except for Wednesday,” she added. Our connecting flight home would stop here once more in just a few days. “But after Wednesday, never again.” We laughed a bit hysterically.
As the snow started to melt that last day, we could see some of Ireland’s infamous beauty. The grass underneath was a shockingly bright green.
Forbes would advise you, in times of disruption, to “Act. Learn. Repeat.”
What stuck more in my mind, however, were the people who reached out. The command to “love your neighbour” might actually be easier than letting yourself be loved. But compassion makes all the difference when you’re living through this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
If I could remember the kindness of every person who had tried to help us, I would see more grass than snow.
