The Airport Theory

The first time this funny little theory graced my FYP was a couple of years ago. I was in peak travel mode for an events company I was working for, and I got a kick out of it.

Turns out, something I had been unintentionally testing—quite closely, I might add—was actually an entire internet theory.

If you’re like me and had no clue what the Airport Theory is, the version that found me basically says this: no matter what time you arrive at the airport, if you’re meant to be on that flight, somehow, you’ll make it.

Trust the timing. Trust the delays.

Now, this does not mean that if your flight takes off at 7 AM and you leave for the airport at 7, it’s the universe’s job to cover your ass for poor planning.

No.

This is more like when you oversleep and you’re running late, and somehow, no matter how much you rush—or don’t rush—you end up on the flight you were supposed to be on.

Let me give you an example.

About ten years ago, my friend Patrick and I were backpacking through Thailand. That was a real journey, let me tell you.

We were supposed to fly from Phuket to Bangkok, where we’d eventually connect to a flight to Frankfurt, Germany.

To get to the Phuket airport, we hopped on a bus that had no doors or windows and seats that were quite literally regular chairs.

Yes. Like old-school blue plastic school chairs.

Most of which were not even bolted down.

My friends and family make fun of me because I inherited a very unique trait from my wonderful grandmother. It’s a really cool skill where I book things for the wrong date, wrong time, AM instead of PM—you know, minor oversights.

And this was one of those times.

Our flight was for 11 PM.

Not 11 AM.

So Patrick and I made it all the way to the Phuket airport only to be told we couldn’t check in until four hours before the flight.

Fine.

We wandered around the airport area, drank our last Thai beers, and cheersed to an incredible two months in Asia.

At 7 PM, we finally walked up to the check-in desk.

And guess what?

I HADN’T EVEN FULLY BOOKED THE FLIGHT.

That’s right.

I had apparently gotten all the way to the checkout page and simply never hit COMPLETE BOOKING, giving blondes everywhere a horribly bad rap.

Now it’s 7 PM.

Our flight from Bangkok to Frankfurt is around 10 the next morning, so we have some time, but not exactly an entire lifetime.

The 11 PM flight is full, of course.

The next available flight is in the morning, which would make us miss Frankfurt.

Then this sweet woman at the check-in desk says something along the lines of:

There is a flight boarding right now. If you can make it through security, we ca put you on that one.

Who would say yes to that?

We would.

We busted our asses through security.

Patrick’s bag got stopped to be searched. I kept going, frantically running toward the gate because apparently I had decided it was now my personal responsibility to make sure this airplane didn’t leave without us.

Sweating—as I had been doing for approximately two straight months because Thailand in February is hot as hell—I finally made it to the gate.

And immediately started laughing.

FLIGHT DELAYED: 30 MINUTES.

Patrick and I suddenly had ample time to get on the plane, make our connection, and eventually land in Germany in February, where it was about 30 degrees.

We were thrilled.

We were really hot, guys.

Side note: if you plan on backpacking through Thailand, don’t. Stay in hotels. They’re cheap and they have air conditioning.

Anyway.

That was ten years ago.

And apparently I have been unintentionally testing the Airport Theory ever since.

Which brings us to today.

I’m currently getting on a flight to Santorini, Greece, to work with an absolute dream hotel.

They asked me last Saturday if I could be there the following Saturday.

And who would say yes to that?

Me.

Last night, I was tossing and turning from excitement, anxiety, existential crisis—you know, the usual.

At 2:23 AM, I grabbed my phone.

My 9:30 AM flight had been delayed until 11:30 AM, which meant I would miss my connection to Athens by seven minutes.

Wel.

No shot in hell I’m letting that happen.

I got on the phone and switched myself to a 7 AM flight with a layover in Boston, getting me to JFK at 12:34 PM with about an hour and a half to spare before my flight to Athens takes off at 2.

The story does not end there.

By this point, it was around 3 AM, and I decided I should try to get an hour or so of sleep.

I should have just gotten up and watched TV or something.

But no.

I rolled out of bed at 4:45 AM, mind you, needing to be in the car around 5:30 at the absolute latest.

I’m not checking a bag, and MCO Terminal C is pretty easy, but it’s a long walk to the gate.

And I had no coffee in my house.

So obviously, my priorities were in perfect order.

I decided I should put some poof in my hair and meander around my house like I wasn’t in a rush because what dumbass takes a Benadryl when they only have a few hours to sleep?

This dumbass.

I ordered my Uber and began the defeating task of trying to zip my suitcase closed.

I rarely overpack, but packing for Greece and London in October is a special kind of packing hell.

After successfully repacking everything and finally getting the damn thing closed, I grabbed my phone, expecting my Uber to be outside.

NOPE.

Thirty minutes away.

It was now 5:19 AM.

The airport is about 25 minutes away.

There was only one thing left to do:

Drive myself and make my mommy and daddy pick up my car later so I don’t pay a million dollars for airport parking.

And then?

I made every green light.

There was no one at security.

My parking spot was right by the elevator.

AND I GOT MY COFFEE.

So here I am.

This adventure is really only beginning. I still have two connections ahead of me and a very real test of faith involving making the one direct Norse Atlantic flight to Athens today.

But I’m a believer in this theory.

If you’re new here—or maybe you’re a seasoned Wanderer—you should know that I LOVE a theory about divine timing and finding beauty in the delays.

And this season of my life is all about accepting, letting go, and trusting God and the universe that whatever the plan is, I’m just along for the ride.

I’m definitely not great at that.

But I’m learning.

And I’m starting to truly believe that if something doesn’t work out the way I wanted, maybe it’s because something better is waiting for me.

It always works out.

Even if I’m crying, kicking and screaming, having a full-blown breakdown with ChatGPT, chugging moon water, burning sage, journaling, meditating, and subconsciously refusing to let go of my old life…

I’m getting dragged into the next chapter on the next available flight.