Why is confirmation spelled wrong?

As I sat, eating my "last supper" of chicken pho, I casually picked up my phone to check on my flight for the next day. I couldn't remember the flight number, but I figured it didn't matter. How many flights could possibly be leaving for Germany at 1:35pm from one airline? Only one, most likely. I waited for my phone to pull up my flight confirmation as I twisted a huge, congealed mass of scrumptious rice noodles onto my fork. Insert bite into mouth. Yum. In conjunction with bite insertion, I see that the page has loaded with my flight information. But...what is this? What doth my eyes see? The international airline company has somehow misspelled "confirmation". This airline has spelled "confirmation" as "CANCELLED".  Of course, second guessing myself and the airline, I re-enter my flight information for the following day. Again, that silly airline says the same thing: CANCELLED.  Like any true America, I took it well and totally panicked.  Here I am, enjoying my last meal, had said some hard goodbyes, dropped my child (my cat, Pudz. sniffle, tear.) off with my wonderful kittysitters, packed and weighed my suitcases (yes, I have two. One extra one was provided by the family I'll be working with. My suitcase heroes.) and have gotten as mentally, physically, emotionally, and Spiritually ready as I could think to be. This cannot be happening. My flight cannot be CANCELLED. No warning, just CANCELLED. I was definitely NOT enjoying that moment, as I so whimsically stated in the namesake of this blog. Optimism out the window, panic commence. Thankfully, I was not alone eating the delicious pho when I found out the worst information that has ever been found out by any human, ever. Ever.  One of the most calm people I know was there with me, pulling me out of crazy/panic land and making genius suggestions like, "why don't you call the airline?" See? Genius!!! Deciding that calling the airline was a better idea than spontaneously combusting, I drove (read: sped) back to my place.

Once I arrived back, I checked my flight information on my laptop.  By this point I assumed that my phone was broken and if I checked my flight on my laptop all would be fine...nope, not true. Confirmation was still spelled CANCELLED. I called the airline and it rang six times. Then, a pre-recorded message came on and said: "I'm sorry, all lines are busy. Please try your call again later". Then, it automatically disconnected me. This is no joke. I tried to call about 10 times and got the same recording. I was truly befuddled. My flight was cancelled, and I couldn't get through and I was supposed to be flying out in less than 20 hrs. But how? I emailed and tried to call the family in Israel. When they finally got my messages, they contacted me right away. Now, two of us were working on it. One in Washington and one in Israel. Neither of us could get through. Do you know why? I will tell you.  The German pilots were going on strike for three days. So, any flight from around the world that was flying into Germany was cancelled. Not just mine, but ALL of them. I was not the only one in this situation.  When I found this out, I was glad to have a reason for the cancellation, but it still didn't solve HOW I was getting to Israel in less than 19 hrs. As I tarried on, searching for other flights, it got later and later and later. Already emotionally exhausted, I finally had to give into sleep and have faith that it would work out. My soon-to-be-Israel family kept working on it (it was their daytime).

I was awakened to a phone call around 6:30am.  After multiple tries and different attempts, my suitcase/airline/Israel-family-to-be heroes got through to the international airline company.  I had been booked, by the airline, on another flight with a different carrier. I was scheduled to leave seven minutes earlier than my original flight on the same day.


So, after snagging/stealing a row all to/for myself on the first 11 hour flight (yea!),

 eating some surprisingly tolerable airline food, seeing the Eifel Tower from the air, touching down in Paris, doing some pretty awesome people watching, absorbing the massive cultural differences and dress with every moment, barely surviving the last 4 hour flight in the worst possible seat EVER (last row of the plane AND in the middle seat -the ones that can't lean back- AND by the only two bathrooms on the plane which were constantly being flushed AND, for the icing on the cake, was between TWO women from Boston, who didn't know each other but wanted to become the bestest of friends while on the entire plane ride, leaning over and in front of me when "I" got in their way. Oh, did I mention, I was by the bathrooms? Both of them?), the plane finally touched down in Israel. I skidded through Passport Security where I was interrogated with questions about being there.  I can't imagine that I could've been that threatening, though.  I couldn't even see over the Passport Security counter. I am not joking. I had to tip-toe for my eyes to be level with the countertop. Who are these giants?

Now, a few days later, I reminisce about those 40 hours. I reflect on my need for continual growth in different areas.  In wanting to be the best Sara I can be, I know that means looking at my own life and examining some of the places that are easily covered by pride or blame. I could've easily blamed the airline for my spazzy behavior regarding the CANCELLED flight or felt justified in my helpless feeling, taking pride in my seemingly deserved self-pity. But how does that last sentence help me to be the best Sara I can be? It doesn't. When the flight was cancelled, I really didn't have the skills to know how to handle it. There was no warning or communication for the cancelled flight. I felt helpless because I really didn't know what to do. All that I had prepared for was coming to a culmination, but it seemed to come to a screeching halt. It was almost like a taking a deep breath, but then having to wait to exhale.

It was a lesson for me. It was a lesson in blind faith.  Faith in something you can't see, but still choose to trust because, well, what else is there? Would I handle it differently if it happened to me again? I don't know. I guess so because frustration brings us to a place where we give up or keep on having faith, even if we don't know the end result. So, I might not know how I would handle it differently next time, but if I choose to be the best Sara I can be, I can always choose the faith route instead of the crazy/panic one.