Notes from the Field: The Magic of Maybe
On Wednesday, October 26th Jan and I departed Portland for Nuuk Greenland. Our flight left Boston at 8:50PM, landing in Keflavik Iceland at 6AM. Our connecting flight to Nuuk was scheduled to depart at 10:45AM with an arrival around noon. We booked a cozy Air BNB for our five-day stay and scheduled many appointments, including combing the archives at the Nuuk Art Museum to learn more about Greenlandic artist Anne Birthe-Hove. While sipping coffee at Joe & the Juice, it was announced our flight was cancelled. I can’t say we were surprised; we hear of weather cancellations often from our friends and colleagues. Our flight departing Greenland in June was cancelled; however, we flew out the next day and made it home as planned without a layover in Iceland. Actually, another day in South Greenland was to my liking so it was fine by me. This cancellation; however, has different implications at the beginning of the trip, not the end when our work was completed and our visit is shorter with a packed itinerary.
We regrouped quickly as seasoned travelers, booked a hotel close to the airport and were grateful for early check in and comfortable beds to catch up on sleep after a red-eye. We were already rebooked for the next day (today) and alerted folks of our delay. No one was surprised, in fact, they probably already knew as I am sure there were others in their circle trying to fly in or out. We got a long and needed nap, woke and went for a walk by the harbor where we discovered Library Café. We drank a glass of red wine and ate a tasty dinner while scanning the bookshelves. Alarms were set for 5:30 AM for a 9 AM flight. Back at Joe & The Juice sipping coffee, I predicted we would depart as planned. Confident, I strolled through stores and while paying for a hat I heard the announcement—both flights to Nuuk were canceled.
While I may stress more at home over what I do not control, I have always been a traveler who once past security, let go and surrender to the unexpected (barring illness and safety issues—those can still rile me). I roll with the punches, and though I was excited to get to Nuuk and dig into the work, I am grateful for safety regulations that prevent flying in dangerous conditions. It can wait, all of it.
Jan and I booked another hotel, collected our luggage, and took a taxi to the Park Inn where the Library Café is located. Over breakfast we reflected on our experience reaching out to folks in Greenland for our previous trip in June, which was longer, more complicated, and consisted of ten people in our team—five faculty and five student researchers. We trekked to sheep farms, stayed in hostels and guest houses, a few hotels, and had a rigorous schedule of interviews, meetings, and a collage portrait workshop concluded the trip. It required hours of coordination and outreach over a period of nearly a year. We noticed a quick reply was often followed by a silent period, and then a resurgence of contact and finalization of plans. We worried about pestering people (I am an unabashed pest in a nice way after years of working in communities but it doesn’t come so easy to others on the team). Somehow it came together and we are more comfortable reaching out as a result of relationshipsbuilt professionally and personally.
Last week we hosted a colleague and friend from Greenland who explained what we experienced and observed. It can be due to weather, and while plans are made, there is a window of opportunity when weather is good to sail or other outdoor activities, or when it’s bad and requires other types of adjustment. Weather can literally ground you, which is an uncontrollable variable, and there goes your plans. It has nothing to do with the importance of an appointment, professional or otherwise, it just is what it is and a daily consideration in some locations more than others. Necessity is the mother of invention, and for some, living with unpredictability is required and can present other opportunities.
We could lament and complain about the loss of three days (no word of a rebooking yet), or we could look at the upside and use this time to be productive in other ways. Personally, I have had a hell of a year with one loss after the other while mounting a big exhibit, going up for full professor, teaching, painting, and an active research agenda. There is no other way to say it--I am exhausted. Being in a hotel room with no temptation to spread myself across work, managing my house, and keeping up with a just turned two-year old Golden Retriever is a good thing. Jan and I are working on things we find hard to squeeze into a packed schedule and busy life. We eat when hungry, rest when tired, work in a neutral and comfortable space, and sit in silence. We have no idea what happens next, if we fly out or remain grounded. But the truth is we never really know what’s happening next regardless of where we are or how airtight our plans seem to be.
Another important aspect of being grounded is for us to gain a deeper understanding of what our Greenlandic friends experience routinely when they fly domestically and internationally. A friend who was in Portland last week for a series of meetings departed the US on a Thursday and was in Iceland for three days before flying home to Nuuk. And while I assume they take it in stride based on the weather realities, they still have a life with responsibilities like the rest of us. I am sure they feel the same relief when they drop their luggage, plop down on their couch and sleep in their bed. My son was a gate agent for a major airline, and told stories of how passengers (Americans mostly) would react when a flight was delayed or canceled, and it wasn’t a flattering account. A shrug of a shoulder doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter, but when you live in certain climates and geographies, cancelled flights aren’t necessarily cause for distress or bad behavior, no matter how much we long for home, adventure, or to attend to our work.
Maybe can feel uncommitted, or perhaps it is a consequence of living a life in synch with a volatile climate in a place of great beauty that you love and call home. Making peace, even reluctantly, with the unknown and that which we never have and never will control can lead us to the magic of maybe.
Signing off from Keflavik Iceland and maybe my next post will be from Nukk Greenland. As my friend Torgunn says, “We’ll find out.”
