The Writing Retreat That Almost Was and the Power of Letting Go
“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” - Louisa May Alcott
Back in September, I had every intention of writing a post reflecting on my time at the “Good Stories” Writing Retreat at the Art of Living Retreat Center in Boone, North Carolina with Brianna Madia. It was all falling into place: plane tickets purchased, shuttle service booked, and I was excited to spend a weekend with an author I’ve admired for years.
But then, Hurricane Helene happened.
At first, it was just a delay. I arrived at the airport, hoping against hope that everything would smooth out. Dozens of us hovered at the gate, phones in hand, anxiously refreshing updates while announcements over the speakers painted a bleak picture: more delays, more canceled connections. The optimism in the air quickly gave way to an undercurrent of dread.
The news from North Carolina was bad. Really bad. Worse than anyone expected.
By the fourth delay, my optimism had run dry. “Should I cancel this trip?” I wondered as I stared at the departure board. “Will I even make it there?”
The author, having arrived the night before, updated us with her own harrowing journey through torrential rain and flooded roads. Then, that morning, her room was flooding, and the power had gone out. The storm was relentless.
Somehow, at 10:30 am, we boarded, and I felt a flicker of hope return. Our departure was set for 10:44, but when 10:45 came and we were still boarding, I knew it wasn’t happening. At this rate, I’d be late for my 1:00 pm shuttle, though they had another at 4:00 if running didn’t get me there on time.
I was seated, buckled, and mentally preparing for takeoff when my phone buzzed. It was the shuttle service. The main highway was closed, and all routes to the retreat center were washed out. “We can’t get you there today, and there’s no guarantee for tomorrow either,” the dispatcher told me.
My instincts kicked in. “Give me ten minutes,” I replied, already in action mode.
I waved down a flight attendant, who approached with the kind of exasperation only frequent flyers know too well. I explained calmly, “My shuttle just got canceled. I can’t get to the retreat center, and if I land, I’ll have nowhere to go. I need to get off this plane.”
Earlier, we’d been told that all outbound flights from Charlotte were canceled, and there was no telling when operations would resume.
The flight attendant sighed but nodded. “Give me a minute.”
As she headed to speak with the pilot, I was a bundle of nervous energy. My hand clutched the top handle of my backpack, legs bouncing beneath my seat, as I primed myself to make a quick exit.
Finally, she gave me the signal. Without a glance at the sweet elderly couple who had complimented my tattoos earlier, I grabbed my carry-on and began the walk of shame down the aisle. Apologies tumbled out of my mouth as my backpack brushed against disgruntled passengers, but I barely registered the glares—I just needed off.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I say we were moments from takeoff. I stood at the front of the plane as the runway was pulled back, waiting to disembark.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to the flight attendants. “They canceled my shuttle, and I’d have nowhere to go.”
One of them offered a knowing smile. “You’re doing the right thing, sweetie. It’s a mess down there. No one’s getting out of the airport from what we’ve heard.”
As the cockpit door opened, a ground crew worker asked for my seat number so the gentleman waiting knew where he had to go, and just like that, I was back in the terminal.
I called my mom, filled her in, and waited for her to pick me up. In the meantime, I got my refunds—first the shuttle service, then the retreat center, and finally, my second flight. With each call, my chest felt tighter, emotions bubbling beneath the surface. I couldn’t hold it together any longer.
I ducked into a bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and let the tears come. What a fucking mess. A trip I’d been looking forward to since August, unraveled in a matter of minutes. I had taken time off work for this, had been so ready to recharge, find clarity, and have meaningful conversations with an author I deeply admired.
What. A. Fucking. Mess.
I stayed in that stall for twenty minutes, letting it all out. I didn’t care who heard. As sympathetic texts from friends started rolling in, I cried even more.
When my mom finally arrived, I dried my eyes and splashed my face with water, knowing anyone who saw me would immediately recognize I had been crying. Later, I overheard her telling my sister, “You could tell she had been crying. I feel so bad.”
That weekend was a rollercoaster of emotions. Waves of sadness, but also waves of relief. The news showed the devastation unfolding, with updates from the author coming through her social media, detailing how it took her four hours just to leave the retreat center. The death toll was rising. I couldn’t help but feel grateful that I was safe at home.
Had the shuttle service called me ten minutes later, I would’ve been in the air and who knows how long I would have been stranded down there.
I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason, even when they break your heart. This post isn’t what I originally intended to write, but it’s about what happens when plans fall apart, and how sometimes, the universe has a better one.
I still think about how I managed to get off that plane, and how surreal it all felt. I’m also in awe of the few guests who actually made it to the retreat—about 12 or 15, according to the author’s Instagram. I can only hope they didn’t risk their safety driving through floodwaters.
As much as I feel like I missed out on something special, I don’t regret my decision for a second. I know I’ll visit that retreat center one day. Maybe for another event or on a solo trip. Or maybe even when I’m hosting my own retreat. That weekend was a loss, but with time and distance, I’ve come to see it for what it was: a reminder that the universe is always looking out for me.
Until next time, I hope this serves as a gentle reminder that when things don’t go as planned, it might be because you’re being protected from something worse. And no matter what, better things are on the horizon.
Wishing you a beautiful day, my friend, wherever you are. 💜
Have you ever had plans go awry? What was your initial reaction? How did you feel about it a few days/weeks/months later?
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