Missed Flights Open Other Doors

Missed Flights Open Other Doors

I didn’t wake up expecting an adventure that day. I was just trying to get on a plane and get on with my work. I arrived early. No checked baggage. Plenty of time. The kind of start that usually means things will go smoothly.

Instead, the first refusal came at security. The power bank I’d travelled with for years was suddenly too large to fly. Rules are rules, apparently.

I asked, half joking, if I could donate it to the security officer as a Christmas present. He laughed. He was a decent guy, just doing his job, and told me he’d already had a morning full of abuse. Our exchange was a small break from that, probably for both of us.

Off I went to the lost and found desk. Which turned out not to be a bin behind a desk just around the corner, but a separate journey involving three floors down, paperwork, and another pass through security.

By the time I came back up, my gate was closed.

I’d mentioned my concern before being sent down and was told “no no you’ll be fine”. What they didn’t factor in was the swarm of people now clogging the security queue. The same officer saw me again and gave me a look that said everything. His boss was there. Nothing he could do. Nothing I could say that would help.

The plane was still there. I could see people boarding. But the decision had already been made without me. The air hostess closed the gate and wandered off, casually rolling a cigarette.

Despite arriving two hours early, with no baggage to check in, I’d missed the flight.

From there, everything turned into friction.

My bank card looped through security checks. I approved every attempt. The system declined every one. I tried transferring money from another account and paid for an instant transfer, only to learn that instant doesn’t apply on weekends.

While this was happening, the 193 euro flight I’d been watching calmly inflated itself to 1500. One last business class seat. Even if a card had worked, the answer was no. For that money I could live like a king in Bali for a month. I wasn’t about to spend it on three hours in a tin can with a curtain separating me from the rest of humanity.

So there I was. Sitting in the airport with no functioning card. My cash already spent on transport. The only card that ever works waiting on a transfer that wouldn’t clear until Monday.

I called a colleague. He was asleep after a night shift. Fair enough. I hadn’t driven either, so even getting home was now its own logistical problem.

I remember thinking I’d never experienced this level of resistance on a trip before. I couldn’t tell if the universe was advising me not to travel, or if cancelling the trip would somehow result in me getting hit by a bus on the way back. Final Destination started playing in my head.

If this were a patient, I’d have been checking their airway and questioning their life choices.

Eventually, there was nothing left to do but sit. And consider what kind of meal €6.98 would get me at McDonald’s.

Sitting doesn’t come easily to me. Most of my life has been shaped by disciplines where hesitation costs you. Where you solve problems, stay alert, scan for threats, and stay one step ahead. That mindset has kept me safe more than once. It has also trained me to notice what might go wrong long before I notice what might go right.

Most of what I write comes from those kinds of arenas. Places where reality gives honest feedback. Where friction is not theoretical. You either adapt, or you get stuck.

While I was sitting there, a young girl plonked herself down beside me and let out a sigh. Not long after, her mother joined her. We started talking the way people do when they share a bench and a bit of time. No big opening line. Just conversation.

They’d been trying to get on a flight for two days. That one wasn’t happening either. They’d accepted it and were aiming for one last attempt the following morning.

One thing led to another, and before I quite realised it, the three of us, complete strangers, were on our way into the city together. I still had no money. They covered my subway ticket without hesitation.

They welcomed me into their home. We shared food. We talked. Later, we slept under the same roof.

Seven hours after being labelled instant, one of my transfers finally cleared. I was able to return the favour with pizza and drinks. It made me feel a little better about the imbalance.

None of this needs to be bigger than it was. There was no grand speech. No emotional climax. Just ordinary human moments. And in a quiet way, it was exactly the kind of experience I’d been missing. Not adrenaline. Not urgency. Just simple connection with people who had nothing to gain from it.

That feels rarer now. People are busy. Guarded. Half present behind screens.

One of my flaws is that I stay on high alert. I scan for danger. I look for the catch. I assume kindness will eventually come with conditions.

That evening reminded me that not everything does.

Sometimes good doesn’t announce itself. Sometimes it arrives when your plans fall apart and you’re forced to slow down long enough to notice who sits beside you.

I don’t know what it all means in the long run. I’m still in a period of change. Still figuring out what stays and what goes. But I know the day didn’t end the way it began.

I’m grateful for that time.
For the kindness.
For the reminder.

I hope it won’t be the last.