When the world turns a cold shoulder, get out of your head and into your heart.

A few weeks ago, my colleague Karen Nell and I were scheduled to fly from Boston to Buffalo for a strategic planning session with 25 participants early the next morning.  It was one of those rare early March days without snow, so we were feeling pretty lucky.  We had a 4:30 p.m. flight, not the last one of the day either, so we also were feeling confident that we’d get to our destination.

By 3:30 p.m., though, the signs were ominous.  Our flight started accumulating one delay after another, apparently due to mechanical issues.  Finally, it was cancelled. Karen Nell and I began scrambling with our client to consider alternatives.  All other flights to Buffalo had been cancelled or were full for the next two days, so our choices were either to drive or reschedule.

Then, amazingly, our flight was reinstated.  Passengers were called back from parking lots and baggage claims.  We celebrated and waited.  And waited.  And then started to wonder.  Finally, at 8:30 p.m., our now-repaired plane was reassigned to another route, and our Buffalo flight was definitively cancelled.  No explanation. Barely an apology. No assistance.

Karen Nell had driven to the airport and her car was in the parking garage.  We agreed to make the drive to Buffalo.  I don’t know what made us decide to do what we did next, but neither of us hesitated.  We stood in the middle of the passenger waiting area and announced, “We’re driving to Buffalo right now and we have two seats.  Anyone want to join us?”

Without missing a beat, a young man stepped forward, shouldered his backpack, and replied, “I’m in.”  Then a young woman, who seemed almost surprised by what she was about to say, proposed to join us as well.  All four of us were vulnerable in the unknown of each other. Yet in the wake of our shared experience, we trusted each other’s good intentions, no questions asked.

It turned out that the young man worked in Boston, but lived in Toronto.  He’d been planning to fly home to spend the weekend with his 14-month-old daughter.  The young woman was originally from Buffalo and now lived in Cambridge. Her grandfather was dying and this was her weekend to say good-bye.  This is what we held in our car – birth and death, the full cycle of life.  Precious cargo.

Intrepid travelers, we made our way west, through the dark, frigid night, in soft conversation and occasional slumber.  Karen Nell, stalwart and steady, safely piloted us to our destination.  We arrived at 4 a.m., wished each other well and went our separate ways.  Our client compassionately delayed our morning start time by 2 hours, so we got some desperately needed sleep and our work went off without further incident.

On the drive home (we couldn’t fly because we had her car), Karen Nell and I talked about why we had offered to share our ride with two strangers, and why neither of us had hesitated.  It’s not that we are incautious or lack discernment.  But the heart knows what the heart knows.  And we were thinking with our hearts.  We were in that place of deep trust, knowing without a doubt the “rightness” of what we were doing.  In that process of trusting, something wounded was healed.  Anger dissipated, replaced with delight.  Cold yielded to warmth.  The world was a sweeter place to be.

So here are today’s questions:  How do you quiet your mind in order to hear your heart?  And when you listen to your heart, what is it telling you?