If you’ ve ever been stuck on a tarmac in a small commuter plane, like I was for nearly three hours last night, you understand in slow, certain succession, what you can and can not control in this old world.
You can’t control the weather. No matter how many times you refresh the app that just two hours earlier promised clear skies and following winds, you’ll still read “heavy snow” as you make your way through a crowded airport en route to your gate.
You can’t control time. It marches along exactly as it chooses. You blink and whole years fall away. You stare and seconds tick past with such painful slowness you wonder if you’d slipped into another dimension.
You can’t control your fellow travelers, who all have places they need to be and people waiting for them to get there.
You can appreciate them though — the guy flying into Appleton to pick up a truck who helped shove your bag into the elfin overhead bin; the lady with the infectious laugh who crammed herself into the very last row and still thanked the flight attendant for doing her best; the exit row sitter who reached over and mimed exactly how he’d remove the door if duty called; the pilot who updated us regularly throughout the long delay.
I felt thankful for all these people and their incredible patience as we waited for a fuel truck to top us off, made our way through a slow de-icing process, taxied for miles until we were able to take off and finally, mercifully made our way into the sky.
Then I said a quick prayer of gratitude to someone who does have a measure of control over this crazy old world and us mortals making our way through it.
