When You’re Stuck, Resentful, and Skeptical
Last month, after a successful conference networking trip in Chicago, I was at the airport ready to make my way home to San Diego. The conference led with courage and clarity as its thematic north star. After several conversations on how to navigate depressing and frustrating social, economic, and political landscapes, I was boarding my flight with some strong reflections on what it means to be courageous and clear.
We got onto the tarmac by 8:30pm.
At 2:00am, we were still there.
So, what happened? A series of thunderstorms rolled in. They were unexpected, unplanned, and fully out of our control. They behaved in ways no one anticipated. Rather than moving on, they sat and hovered over the airport. Just when we thought they were going to clear, we’d see a flash of light. At times they brought with them winds strong enough to rock the plane.
If you’re working in the social impact sector like I am, these storms mirror much of what I’ve felt these last 18 months: Unpleasant surprises, endless uncertainty, confusion, frustration, impatience, rage, and real fear. This six-hour experience on the tarmac truly put my newfound insights of courageousness and clarity to the test. My takeaway was a newfound confidence on what to do when you’re stuck, resentful, and skeptical.
Stuck In The Middle - The Gift Of Being Liminal
Around 10:00pm, we were firmly stuck on the tarmac. The crew explained that the lightning kept us from returning to the gate, while simultaneously keeping us out of the air. We were in the liminal space: the place between no longer and not yet.
On the surface, this can feel like a terrible place to be. You mean to tell me that I cannot go back AND I am not yet allowed to go forward?! And that is the gift of liminal space, if you allow yourself to see being stuck as an opportunity to pause. With this pause comes the opportunity to choose:
Do I want to stay hooked reminiscing about where I was? How I should have taken the earlier flight? How I should have [fill in the blank with your regrets].
Or, can you choose to dream ahead, and reconnect to your destination? That was the messaging from the flight crew: “We know this is a tough situation, but let us assure you, we have not lost sight of our destination. We are going to San Diego.”
Even if, and especially when, the future feels uncertain or out of reach, liminal space offers an invitation to realign with where we want to go and who we want to become along the way.
Comparison Is The Thief of Joy - And A Cousin of Resentment
Interestingly, right around the time we realized we were stuck on the tarmac, we witnessed other planes taking off. Why are they allowed to take off and we’re not?!
The captain immediately spoke to this activity, as I’m sure he was aware of the potential for resentment. He simply shared that other planes have a different path. Our path would direct us right into the storm. We have to commit to our path, and not another one. Hard stop.
Now, I questioned this. Every plane that took off felt like proof that someone else was moving while we remained stuck. It felt hard to trust that we had to commit to our own path. There had to be an easier way out of this situation, right?
But the more I sat with this, the more I drew the connection to how this shows up in leadership. I remembered that staying on the path is a testament to our vision—along with our meaningful commitments to our work and our values. Staying on the path takes courage. It is a decision that requires patience, but also one that strengthens our integrity. No shortcuts. No trade-ins.
I eavesdropped on the flight crew’s conversations, and I quickly picked up on their courage, commitment to values, and their integrity. This was a San Diego crew. They wanted to make it there as much as the rest of us did. I followed their lead and trusted the path.
Healthy Skepticism Is Healthy Until It’s…?
By midnight, my exhausted brain was taking over. I could hear the shift in the tone of my own thoughts. My trust in the flight crew was waning. I stopped looking for silver linings and started tallying every way this situation had become a massive inconvenience. What started as healthy skepticism had slowly transformed into full-blown mistrust. I was losing my ability to hold perspective and respond thoughtfully to a difficult situation. Exhaustion was narrowing my view of what was actually happening.
That’s when I did the most courageous thing I could have done that evening: I canceled my meetings for the next day, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. In that moment, courage was less about pushing through my exhaustion to get what I wanted, and more about allowing myself to grieve my expectations, exercise restraint, and most importantly, rest. This is what I needed to endure.
Our flight took off at 2:19am, and we made it to San Diego around 6:00am local time. Pretty quickly, once I had my feet on the ground, I was able to sigh a breath of relief about the situation and how unfortunate and untimely it was. It’s funny how that happens. It all feels impossible to manage right up until we get to the other side. There, we can see the gift of our experiences--especially if we allow ourselves to learn something from them.
I’m sure this story resonates with something in your leadership journey right now. Perhaps you too have thunderstorms overhead that just won’t go away. You and your people are feeling it. Maybe you’re the pilot and crew, figuring out how to communicate an uncomfortable truth. Perhaps you're a passenger, wondering how life could be so unfair, and feeling desperate for someone to make things easier. Either way, I hope these lessons from the tarmac remind you that these moments, in all of their difficulty, are opportunities to become the kinds of leaders who are better equipped, more clear, and more courageous than when we first boarded the plane. If this resonated, Get In Touch.