It’s another one of those mornings that reminds you why paying attention matters.
I’m driving to the airport, way earlier than I need to be, as usual. The sky is impossibly blue. Not a cloud anywhere. The sun is coming up just enough to catch the snow-covered roofs and trees, and everything looks sharp, quiet, and still. The kind of stillness you only get when it’s really cold.
And by really cold, I mean the dashboard reads minus nine.
That’s not a typo. Minus. Nine.
It’s been a cold, snowy winter here in Syracuse. Some people would say it feels more like winters “used to be,” and honestly, I don’t mind it. I’ve always believed that if you dress for it and get your mindset right, there’s something incredible about embracing the beauty of the world of God’s creation, in every season. Winter included. Maybe especially winter.
This morning, though, the cold is only part of the story.
I’m heading out on a couple-week trip that will take me through several states and into a handful of very different environments. There’s a lot to look forward to meetings, time with good people, new places, and experiences that I know I’ll be grateful for. There’s also that familiar cocktail of excitement and low-grade anxiety that comes with travel.
Not fear. Just… awareness.
Today’s stressor is simple: tight connections. Less than an hour. I know better. I’ve booked enough flights and spent enough time in airports to understand how weather, de-icing, runway delays, and one small hiccup can snowball into a missed connection. Add in subzero temperatures here, cold weather at my first stop, and the reality that planes tend to take their time when it’s like this, and there it is. That little voice in the background.
Just get to the airport.
So I am. Probably too early. I’ll sit. I’ll work. I’ll wait. But there’s something about travel stress that doesn’t care about logic.
At some point this morning, while half-listening to a podcast and half-scrolling the internet, I stumbled across a list of stress-relief techniques. Breathing exercises. Stretching. Finding a quiet space. All fine. All useful. But one made me think, not because it was complicated, but because it was almost painfully simple.
It was called: “What do we know right now?”
The technique is often used to stop spiraling. Now, to be clear, I’m not spiraling. I’m just mildly concerned I might miss a flight. In the grand scheme of life, that’s not exactly a crisis. It’s an inconvenience. A frustrating one, sure but not something that changes the outcome in any meaningful way.
And that’s exactly why the question works.
What do we know right now?
Right now, both flights are on time.
Right now, the airline app says it’s tracking my progress.
Right now, while the connection is tight, it’s still doable.
Right now, I’m seated near the front of the plane, which helps.
Right now, I’m healthy enough to move quickly if I need to.
What I don’t know is whether the plane will de-ice longer than expected.
What I don’t know is whether a gate change will slow things down.
What I don’t know is whether something completely out of my control will happen.
And that’s the point.
Most of the stress we carry isn’t about what is. It’s about what might be. We spend an incredible amount of energy reacting to futures that haven’t arrived and may never show up at all.
So I keep asking myself, as the sun rises and the snow glows and the road stretches out ahead of me: What do we know right now?
What I know right now is that everything is a go.
What I know right now is that no alarms are sounding.
What I know right now is that the odds of getting where I need to be, one way or another, are pretty good.
And even if I miss the connection? I still get there. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe with a different story to tell. But I still arrive. I still see the people I’m meant to see. I still do the work. Life still moves forward.
That realization doesn’t eliminate the stress but it shrinks it. It puts it back in its proper place.
So this morning, instead of rehearsing every possible problem, I’m choosing to enjoy the sunshine. I’m choosing gratitude for a beautiful drive, a safe trip, and the opportunity ahead. And I’m keeping one simple question in my pocket for whenever the noise creeps back in:
What do we know right now?
Sometimes, that’s more than enough.