When the Universe Says Not Yet: A Door Half-Open

It was a cloudy morning on June 14th. That kind of overcast where the sky doesn’t look angry, just tired. There were moments the sun tried to peek through, like it wasn’t quite sure if it was welcome or not. My luggage was zipped and ready, resting at my front door like a loyal companion, packed with more than outfits and toiletries. It carried my hope, my escape, my need to breathe somewhere new.

I was supposed to be on a plane to France.

Instead, I found myself grounded.

At first, I kept telling myself, “It’s okay, it’s just delayed.” But after a domino effect of postponements, cancellations, rebookings, and a few customer service runarounds that tested every fiber of my restraint, I found myself at home again—exhausted, disoriented, and still very much not in France.

And yes, I cried. I dropped an F-bomb (which I rarely do, so trust that it was spiritually significant). I wasn’t angry at the world, but I was deeply, bone-weary disappointed. Not in the dramatic, table-flipping way, but in the kind of way where your soul sinks a little, like it was trying to board the flight without you.

I didn’t ask, “Why me?” so much as I asked, “Why now?”

This trip had been on my heart for months. I’d saved, planned, and prepared for it. Spiritually, emotionally, financially. I was ready to stretch my wings, to get out of my comfort zone, to spend time with my beautiful friend, to walk through cobbled streets and remember who I was outside the roles I often inhabit.

But the universe, something older and wiser, whispered back, “Not yet.”

Maybe there’s a kind of protection in redirection. Maybe the delay wasn’t a punishment, but a pause. A breath. A message I couldn’t quite hear yet because I was too busy looking toward departure gates instead of signs hidden in stillness.

I was grounded in reality, in grief. Grounded in that quiet kind of pain that doesn’t wail, but hums beneath your ribs like a sad violin string.

I know some people might say, “It’s just a trip,” or “You can always go later.” And they’re right. I can go later. France isn’t going anywhere. But I also want to hold space for the version of me who was crushed in that airport terminal—who’d been so excited, so ready, only to be told, “Not yet.”

That version of me mattered, too.

But here’s where the story shifts—because it always does, doesn’t it? Despite my crushed spirit and frayed nerves, my loved ones drove to Charlotte to bring me back home. Like something out of a bittersweet road trip movie, they showed up when I needed them. And while it wasn’t the plane to Paris, it was a kind of arrival all its own: rescued, road-weary, and reminded that I’m deeply loved.

My Mom, a week and a half after the fact, stumbled on articles about the hundreds of flights canceled around the world—due to plane malfunctions, weather, cosmic chaos, who knows? And I started to wonder: what if I was spared from something I’ll never fully know? What if this was less of a setback and more of a sidestep into safety, or alignment, or simply another path?

Sometimes life whispers “not yet,” not to deny you, but to protect you. To reroute you. To give you something else first—like clarity. Or comfort. Or love showing up with an overnight bag and a tired smile.

Not all doors slam shut. Some remain half-open.

And in that crack of light, there is mystery. There is waiting. There is the soft ache of “almost.”

I’m still grieving the lost trip. I won’t pretend otherwise. But I also know France hasn’t vanished. It’s still there, waiting, and so is my friend. Maybe when I go, I’ll be someone even more ready to receive them. Maybe what I need to find in France is still finding its way to me.

So for now, I’ll honor the door that didn’t open.

Not with bitterness, but with a strange sort of reverence. Because even in disappointment, there are whispers of grace.

And maybe the next time I pack my luggage, I’ll carry a little less urgency and a little more trust.

The story isn’t over. The ticket is just tucked inside another chapter.

If you’ve been following along with my writing and posts—thank you for waiting. I took a brief pause to breathe through the unexpected. But the stories are ready to return, and so am I.

I’ll be back to my regular posting schedule from here, with new stories, reflections, and maybe even a ghost or two. As always, thank you for walking beside me