Stacey and Luann
What It Means to Show Up in a World That No Longer Expects It
I took four pictures on our Spring Break vacation last week.
One of them was a screenshot from the airline, apologizing for delaying our flight.
As soon as I heard our flight from Indianapolis to Orlando had been delayed until the next morning, I knew we would miss our connecting flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico. The Orlando flight would arrive two hours after our San Juan flight had already left. Heads spinning, we made our way to baggage claim and set up our makeshift command center.
For the next six hours, Jenny and I ran every scenario and calculated every combination and permutation that would get us to Puerto Rico. We started with the obvious—any airline from Indy to Orlando, then any airline from a city within four hours of Indy. The issue was south Florida. Heavy thunderstorms and the threat of tornadoes had grounded everything. We inched up the coasts, searching for any city in Florida, to no avail. We considered driving to Orlando, but we wouldn’t make it in time. Maybe drive to Nashville, Atlanta, or Charlotte, then a late flight to Orlando. But all flights—and I mean all flights—even the late ones, were canceled.
We refreshed travel sites, checked every airline, chased every possibility. Finally, we bailed on south Florida and refocused on the goal—getting a direct flight to San Juan by the next day. This time, we went big. O’Hare. JFK. Newark. Logan. Nothing. Every search came up empty. It felt apocalyptic. Severe storms in the south. A blizzard crippling everything north and east of Indiana. Every route canceled, delayed beyond reach, or already booked by other Spring Break travelers. And that doesn’t even include the TSA debacle.
Beleaguered, Jenny and I made one last attempt with our airline’s check-in attendants. They were overwhelmed, their hands tied, and clearly not equipped for something like this. Then we noticed two Delta attendants behind us with no line, waiting out the end of their shift. With nothing to lose, we walked over and asked if they could get us to Puerto Rico. They searched and told us the best they could do was St. Paul, Minnesota. We thanked them and went back to our baggage claim command center.
I turned off my phone, closed my eyes, and shook my head.
“I found something,” Jenny said. “There’s a direct flight on a regional airline out of Minneapolis to San Juan in the morning. We just have to get to Minneapolis tonight.”
We ran up the escalators to the Delta desk.
“Can we still get to Minneapolis tonight?” we asked in unison.
“Yes. You have thirty minutes.”
We explained the third-party site and the regional airline. I told them I needed to secure the direct flight before booking with them. While I entered our information online, Jenny gave the attendant everything she needed. Finally, I typed in my credit card and hit submit.
Processing.
Processing.
Processing.
And it kept processing.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
“We’ll need to check your bag in the next ten minutes if you’re going to make this flight.”
“Still processing,” I said. “We’ll know in five.”
Jenny and the kids watched me as I watched the wheel spin. Five minutes passed.
I stood and walked to the counter.
“I’m certain it’s going through. Let’s check the bag to Minneapolis.”
I paid, and they sent the suitcase down the conveyor. We watched it disappear beneath the plastic divider strips. I looked back at my phone.
No spinning wheel.
Payment canceled.
Flight to San Juan: FULL.
I raised my arms and told them to stop the luggage.
For the next twenty minutes, the attendants worked tirelessly—retrieving our suitcase, calling the gate multiple times, entering information to reverse the charge. As they worked, I checked the time and realized how far past their shift they were. They didn’t have to do any of this. Our original flight wasn’t even with them. But they saw our desperation and chose to help. They stayed as long as they could, trying to get our family to Puerto Rico—even though, in the end, it didn’t work.
The second of four photos was of Stacey and Luann behind the counter after we thanked them for working so hard for us.
In the age of automated everything, AI voices on the other line, and the growing sense that no one wants to go the extra mile, there are still people who remind you that humanity hasn’t been automated yet—and who refuse to let you become just another transaction. This is the humanity I hope we can preserve.
Question
In a world that no longer requires me to care, where is life quietly asking me to be present anyway?
Peace,
Brandon