I’ve had bad flying experiences before. I spent the night alone in the Delhi airport once, sleeping on my duffel bag with my passport wedged between my boobs—the only anti-theft device I could think of at 2 AM. A flight from Paris to JFK was diverted to Reykjavik because of a chemical spill in the cargo hold. I landed with my two school-age sons to the sight of emergency vehicles lined up on the runway–a very unwelcome welcoming committee. I then spent 10 hours corralling boys gone wild at the airport while waiting to get a flight out again. 

But nothing compares to the tumult of last weekend, when it took more than three days to get from Cochin, in South India, to Charlotte, NC. A much-hyped snowstorm through the States created chaos at airports around the world. 

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I cannot count the number of hours spent standing in lines at airline desks or on hold with airline phone lines or chatting with useless airline bots or refreshing my airline apps—often with contradictory information coming up with each refresh. Flights were canceled then mysteriously uncanceled, just to be canceled again. Luggage was lost then found then rejected by an airline, apparently on principle. Illogic and catch-22s were rife throughout the ordeal. 

I got home on Monday night—29 hours later than scheduled—bedraggled and exhausted, but proud of myself for only losing my cool one time. I’m not a patient person, especially when I’m in horse-to-the-barn mode on my return home after a long trip (two glorious weeks in Southern India with a NextTribe group). 

Not freaking out required a lot of discipline for me and a few very intentional strategies. I share them with you here in hopes they might help if you—God forbid—get stuck in a similar global nightmare. Or even a mere flight hiccup. 

Recognize the Amazing Improbability of Global Travel

I know it’s been more than 100 years since the airplane was invented by Orville and Wilbur. But still, stop and think about how amazing it is that we can sit in a metal tube that can take us halfway around the world in hours. Imagine explaining this to someone from 1824. “Yes, I’ll be in a chair, eating a tiny bag of pretzels, while hurtling through the sky at 500 miles per hour.” They’d burn you as a witch.

Stop and think about how amazing it is that we can sit in a metal tube that can take us halfway around the world in hours.

We certainly take smooth flights for granted, but when the system breaks down, it’s useful to remember what a stunning achievement it is that thousands of planes are arcing through the atmosphere at the same time without regularly crashing into each other. The fact that things don’t go awry more often is frankly miraculous.

Give in to the Loss of Control

Therapists, self-help gurus, yogis, the AA philosophy (and I don’t mean American Airlines) emphasize that there is only so much we can control. We are counseled to “let go” and concentrate only on the things we have mastery over (namely, our attitudes). There is probably no better situation to test yourself on this premise than airline mayhem. 

To stay grounded when you’re grounded, dig deep.

To stay grounded when you’re grounded, dig deep–sit cross-legged in a corner behind the airport Starbucks, if you must, with your fingers in some vague gesture of relinquishment you remember from a yoga class you took in 2014. Will the knot in your stomach to dissipate, to extinguish that human urge to barge up to a gate agent and yell, “Do Something!” 

If you can disengage here, dealing with traffic snarls on your local ring road or your button-pushing daughter-in-law will feel as easy as a short, puddle-jump flight in blue-bird weather. 

Pretend Someone is Videotaping You

I know you’re supposed to think about the terrible day the poor airline employees are living through and show empathy instead of rancor. I did feel sorry for them, but what kept my temper in check more effectively was to imagine that cellphone cameras were trained on me while I conversed with each of those weary souls. 

The last thing I needed was to go viral as Airport Karen.

If I lost my shit, it could end up on social media. I could become the poster girl for the current version of the Ugly American—which was especially horrifying now that we as a nation are so ridiculed abroad. The last thing I needed was to go viral as Airport Karen, complete with unflattering camera angle made worse by egregious institutional lighting. 

Laugh at the Ridiculous

And let’s be honest, so much of what happens during an airline meltdown is pretty absurd. For instance, the rule at the Cochin Airport in South India that says you can’t enter the airport without a boarding pass, at the same time the airline website is saying you have to see someone at the airport to get your boarding pass. It’s the travel equivalent of “you need experience to get a job, but you need a job to get experience.”

It’s helpful to have a co-conspirator in this case—someone else who is cartwheeling through the same circus.

It’s helpful to have a co-conspirator in this case—someone else who is cartwheeling through the same circus. When my flight from Delhi to JFK was canceled, I was already through security at the airport. To check in to the new flight I was booked on—from Delhi to London and then on to Charlotte—I was told I had to leave the secure region and go back to the airport check-in area. An airline employee accompanied me and another passenger—an Indian man trying to get to Chicago—to go backwards through security. 

Going through immigration and security on my way to my gate took 45 minutes. To get out in reverse took an hour. A report had to be written up—using carbon paper for multiple copies as if it were 1987—and my new friend and I had to get those papers and their carbon copies stamped at 10 different locations on the way out. 

Each time we were walked to a new officer, who read the report with great seriousness before ceremoniously getting his stamp inked up and slamming it on our papers, we broke out in silent giggles. The bureaucracy of it all! The solemnity! The stamps!

When we finally were released, the distinguished Indian man rejoiced. “We’re out of jail! Yay,” he shouted. Only then could we laugh out loud. 

Embrace Small Victories

Sometimes, you’ll get a little sliver of light shining through the bleakness of airline boards covered with “canceled” notices. Grab on to those like pieces of wood after a shipwreck. On my rescheduled route from Delhi to London, I scored a great seat. “Aisle bulkhead, more legroom. So not all bad,” I texted my fiancé. “Always looking on the bright side,” he wrote back. Should I let him know how great the effort is?

When I landed in London, I made my way to the gate for my flight to Charlotte. We were about to board, the gate sign and my app told me. Usually, I’m part of the scrum close to the desk, ready to get on as soon as possible (to make sure I get bin storage for my bag). 

Yoga saves the day in the most unexpected way.

This time, I stayed on the outer edge of the throng so that I could stretch my cramping muscles. So there I was in a down dog pose–yep, butt way up in the air–when the announcement came that the flight was canceled. I had a clear path to speed-walk my way to the American Airlines service desk down the concourse, and ended up being one of the first in line to get on a flight the next day. (The line was about 100 deep and some people weren’t rebooked until two days later.) Lucky me, I thought. Yoga saves the day in the most unexpected way.

I ended up having to spend the night in London, but happily, it is my favorite city in the world, and I was able to take the Heathrow Express (15 minutes) to a lovely hotel with off-season pricing. I had dinner with a NextTribe staffer who lives in London and who I had never met before. And I spent hours walking (and riding a rented bike) through Hyde Park and the area where I’d spent a semester of college. It was pretty glorious—the best development in a stretch of travails.

If All This Doesn’t Work, Apologize

When I was rerouted from my original Delhi to JFK flight to one from Delhi to London, I changed from American to British Airways. American couldn’t find my two checked bags—yes, I went against my rules and checked two bags, having bought way too much in India. American assured British Air that they would get them to Charlotte, but British Air wanted me to check the bags through them. They would not issue my boarding pass until the bags were produced. 

After 2 hours of looming around the British Airways check-in desk—occasionally sitting on the edge of a planter box like some bedraggled pigeon—the bags were delivered from the bowels of the airport, at least according to my Apple tag. It was 1 in the morning. Now, I would be able to check in for my 3:40 am flight and go through the 45 minutes of immigration and security—again!

But no, the fiasco was not over yet. At the British Airways desk with my bags, the agent—a different one—told me that according to their records, I wasn’t allowed to check any bags. None. Zero. I kid you not. 

Before I even got to security, I felt a surge of guilt for my rudeness.

That’s when all the day’s frustration, exhaustion, anxiety erupted. “No, no way. That is impossible,” I shouted. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Then in very loud terms I recounted how I had been told I couldn’t check in without my bags and now I’m being told I couldn’t check in WITH my bags. The Kafka-esque absurdity of it all had finally broken me.

Maybe someone was catching me on their iPhone, but at the moment I didn’t care. Finally, the agent relented and let me check one bag—I had to carry on the other. 

“If someone at the gate tells me I have too many bags to carry on, I swear I’ll lie down and have a tantrum,” I said as I stormed off, ignoring the fact that I was in the middle of one just now.  

Before I even got to security, I felt a surge of guilt for my rudeness. I turned around and sidled up to the agent I had just yelled at. She looked at me warily, as if she was going to get another earful. “I just want to say how sorry I am for my outburst. I know you’re having a bad day too.” She seemed surprised and nodded her head with a half smile. She probably still thought I was an asshole, but I felt a little better about myself. 

And Remember, It Could Always be Worse

No travel day is that bad as long as you’re still alive and in one piece. So many truly disastrous things could happen as these man-made contraptions climb from the ground to 37,000 feet and back again that it’s always worth keeping in mind how lucky we are to survive doing this on a regular basis. 

We’re basically rocketing through the sky in an aluminum can, trusting our lives to physics and the FAA. When you put it that way, a 29-hour delay doesn’t seem quite so catastrophic.