Well, it’s about that time. Time to pack up the bags and head to the airport. My office is only about a ten-minute drive from Syracuse Hancock International, and while I travel often—probably more than I’d like to admit—I was particularly excited about this trip.
I left the office and headed straight for the parking garage, found a spot without much trouble, walked down a flight of stairs, crossed the bridge to the terminal, and made my way to TSA Pre-Check. No line. Straight through without a second glance. So far, so good.
I got to my gate about 45 minutes before boarding—earlier than usual. But this trip was different. I wasn’t traveling for work or heading off to another meeting. I was meeting my kids and some close friends in South Carolina for a few days together. Time moves fast, and life moves even faster. It felt like just yesterday that we were spending Saturday mornings at our small-town rec soccer league, and now I was flying down to meet them—one coming in from Boston, the other from Denver.
Sitting at the gate, I scrolled through emails, flipped on some music, and started to get excited for the weekend. As I glanced up at the screen, I saw the words every traveler loves: Flight on Time.
But I’ve been around airports long enough to know better. I checked the inbound flight—the plane that was supposed to take us to Washington, D.C. before my connection. And there it was, still sitting in Charlotte.
Not good.
Boarding was supposed to begin in 30 minutes, and our plane hadn’t even left the ground yet. I started doing the math in my head: taxiing, takeoff, landing, deplaning, refueling, boarding again… there was no way we were staying on schedule. Normally, a delay is frustrating, but manageable. But this one? This one mattered.
I had a 50-minute connection in D.C., and if I missed it, I’d lose a whole day of what was already a short trip. Two and a half days together doesn’t leave much room for error, and I wasn’t about to waste a third of it sitting in an airport.
The stress kicked in. I started running through options. Could I drive to Rochester for a different flight? Was there another way to South Carolina? What if I had to fly somewhere completely out of the way just to make it work? I pulled up every airline app I had, digging through points, available routes—anything to keep this trip from unraveling.
Then, the official word came: delayed.
And yet, the airline insisted we'd be fine making our connections. Now, I’ve heard that one before. If the plane is already 45 minutes late, and I only have a 50-minute layover, and we still have to deboard, refuel, reload, and take off again… yeah, we’re not making that connection.
I did some more digging. My flight to D.C. was set to land at Gate E46. My next flight, the one taking me to Augusta, Georgia, was scheduled to depart from Gate E46.
Wait.
I double-checked. That couldn’t be right.
I’ve flown enough to know this almost never happens. You land, you hustle to another terminal, or worse, sprint across the airport, hoping to catch the next flight. But this time? The very same plane that was delayed getting to me in Syracuse—the one that was flying me to D.C.—was the same plane that would be taking me to Augusta.
Unbelievable.
It felt too good to be true. Surely, something would change. Maybe they’d swap out the aircraft, move the crew around, or reassign the gate. But for now, it looked like things were falling into place.
I held onto cautious optimism. Called a couple of friends and told them the crazy scenario. It felt like one of those moments where the stars align just enough to give you hope, but you don’t want to say it out loud in case you jinx it.
Then, the plane landed in Syracuse. Passengers got off. We boarded. And sure enough, the flight took us to D.C., where we taxied to Gate E46.
And just as I reached for my phone to check the next flight, I got the notification: Delayed.
Why? Because my plane—the plane I was sitting on—hadn’t arrived yet.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
When we finally deplaned, I walked out, took a quick bathroom break, and about 15 minutes later, they called for boarding—same gate, same plane, new flight number. I turned around, and there was my son, waiting for me at the gate.
We embraced, and I told him the whole story. He just shook his head in disbelief.
It all worked out.
We landed in Augusta, spent the weekend golfing, sharing stories, and enjoying the kind of time together that you don’t get nearly enough of as life moves on.
This whole experience reminded me of something important. We spend so much time worrying about the details, stressing over what could go wrong, planning every backup plan in case something falls through. And sometimes, despite all of that, things just work out.
Not always. Not every time. But sometimes.
And when they do, when you’re lucky enough to be in one of those moments where everything aligns just right, you appreciate it even more.
We can’t control everything. But we can control how we react to it.
This time, I was lucky. And I was grateful.
Mark J Modzeleski, CFS, CLTC, AIF
President, Legacy Wealth Advisors of NY