A new season has begun in the Ogle household. No, not summer…the season of no longer raising children. The possibilities of what to do with all this extra time seemed endless. If you know anything about the Enneagram, I’m a Seven, and we tend to collect hobbies, chase adventures, and make it our personal mission to make sure life is always fun. So, naturally, I packed my summer full of online classes, traveling, growing my small business, and writing my blog. I didn’t question my ability to do it all. I confidently walked out of my classroom at the end of May convinced I had everything under control and thought to myself, I’ve got this.

At the beginning of June, I planned a trip to visit some of my grandchildren. I booked my flight, reserved a rental car, and found an adorable condo for the week. I was excited, but as the departure date got closer, I found myself getting anxious. I was going to be flying…by myself! Yikes. Then I started talking myself down. Traveling alone was actually going to be easier. I wouldn’t have to keep up with anyone else, make sure everyone had gone to the bathroom, count heads every five minutes, or listen to someone ask, “Are we there yet?” every thirty minutes. This trip was going to be fun. It was going to be easy. After all, I only had one person to worry about this time—me.

I had booked a very early flight, and my husband was going to drop me off at the airport on his way to work. See? It was already easy! The timing worked out perfectly. I arrived at the airport at 5:05 a.m., and boarding wasn’t until 5:45. Since I wasn’t checking any bags—after all, it was just me on this trip and I could actually pack light—I headed straight to TSA. I didn’t expect much of a line that early in the morning, so I was surprised to find one wrapped around the ropes. Every few minutes a woman would call out, “Skip the TSA line for only $19!” At first I hesitated, but then I looked at the clock and decided nineteen dollars was a small price to pay for a little peace of mind.

I walked over to TSA Express, and the attendant handed me a QR code. “Just tap here,” she said. Up popped my grandson’s information and picture. Wonderful. The year before, I had given him my Apple Watch, and somehow his information had become tangled up with my phone information. Now I’m standing in the middle of the airport trying to convince the TSA attendant that I am, in fact, me. “That’s not me,” I said. “Hang on…let me fix it.” A few taps later, my boarding pass finally appeared. The attendant didn’t seem to think I was trying to steal my grandson’s identity, so she waved me through. Within minutes I was second in line for TSA. Money really can solve some problems, I thought to myself with a grin.

I was feeling pretty confident as I walked up to the TSA attendant. I handed him my driver’s license, and he asked, “Do you have a Real ID or a passport?” I had a passport, but I had convinced myself I didn’t need it and would probably end up losing it. So I confidently replied, “That is a Real ID.” I honestly thought it was. He smiled politely and said, “No, it isn’t.” And I swear, in true Kari form, I looked at him and asked, “Are you sure?” Because, you know, it’s not like he looks at hundreds of driver’s licenses every day. He pointed to my license and said, “See? If it were a Real ID, it would have a star up here.’” Oh boy, I thought. This is where it’s all going to fall apart. To quote my students, “I’m cooked.” Then I reached into my wallet, pulled out my military dependent ID—my husband is a veteran—and handed it to him. He smiled and said, “Yes, this will work.” From cooked to well done, I was on my way!

I walked to my gate knowing it was getting close to boarding time, but my mouth was dry and I desperately needed something to drink. I stopped at a little shop, grabbed a drink, and made my way to the gate. I found an empty seat next to a man traveling alone. After a minute or two, I finally said, “Well, it certainly looks like you’re ready for a comfortable flight,” pointing to his travel pillow and book. He smiled and said, “I hope so. It’s a little bit of a long flight.” I asked where he was headed, and he said, “Hawaii to visit my son in the military.” I laughed and said, “Really? I’m going to visit my son in the military!” Then something didn’t seem right. Hawaii? I was headed to Virginia. “So…you’re connecting through Baltimore?” I asked. He looked at me like I had lost my mind and said, “No…Atlanta.” Suddenly all the blood rushed to my face. Where was my boarding pass? Oh no. I had been looking at my connecting flight instead of my current flight. I was at the wrong gate. I jumped up and blurted out, “I’ve got to go! I was looking at the wrong boarding pass. Have a safe flight!” I glanced at my phone. 5:42. Then I took off down the concourse like Secretariat heading for the finish line, hoping my plane hadn’t already left without me.

I finally made it to my gate, and there it was in big letters across the screen—Baltimore. Perfect. I found a seat and settled in. A few minutes later, I heard a man over the speaker call my name and ask me to come to the counter. Completely unfazed, I assumed they were calling me because I was seated in an exit row and they needed to make sure I was willing and able to assist in the event of an emergency. I walked up, handed him my boarding pass, and he scanned it without saying a word. So I turned around…and sat right back down. A minute later the same man walked over to me and said, “Ma’am, we need you to get on the plane. It’s ready to depart!” The words hit me like a ton of bricks. That’s when it dawned on me—I had confused the departure time with the boarding time. Oh my gosh. How had I done this? More importantly…how had I almost gotten away with it? I hurried onto the plane, and every seat was full. It felt like every set of eyes was watching me. I spotted the only open overhead bin, hoisted up my carry-on, and nearly dropped it on the poor man sitting underneath it. Thankfully, a very kind young man jumped up and said, “Here, let me get that.” After he slid it into the bin, he looked at me and said, “Nineteen.” I stared at him. “What?” He smiled and said, “Your bag is in overhead bin number 19.” I smiled back in a dazed manner.  I finally sat down in my seat, looked out the window, and thought, “Well…at least I didn’t lose my passport.”

This next chapter of life is going to be very interesting. I spent decades worrying about everyone else—packing diaper bags, keeping up with head counts, making sure everyone made it where they were supposed to be, and carrying the mental load that comes with raising a family. Now, for the first time in a very long time, I’m learning what it looks like to simply be me. The beautiful, imperfect, sometimes disorganized, occasionally embarrassing mess that is me. I won’t have kids to blame for my airport adventures this time around, and honestly…I’m perfectly okay with that. This season isn’t about slowing down. It’s about laughing more, worrying less, making memories with the man who’s been beside me through every season before this one, and embracing whatever adventure comes next—even if I occasionally end up at the wrong gate.

Wherever this next chapter takes us…from my blended heart to yours. 💛