Trapped in the Spiral: Trains, Taxis, and the Dark Cloud Over Us

It’s 5:45 a.m. in Sardinia, and John and I are on the way to the airport. I’m really hoping the Hertz rental car return is simple and easy.

As we pull up to the terminal area and follow the maps, we see a gate where we have to get a ticket to get in. There are three gates to choose from and no sign that indicates which gate is for what. We have to guess.

We choose the far-left gate, take a ticket and drive through. It takes us inside the terminal but not where passengers get dropped off. We’re in the outside lane on the other side of the median, driving through departures and looking for rental-car-return signs.

We don’t see anything. No signs anywhere. Just another exit gate.

“Ugh! NO! Now we have to pay,” John says, getting frustrated.

“We probably should have chosen another gate,” I say.

“How am I supposed to know? I just picked one.” John is already defensive.

I brace myself for him to get flustered—we’re late, our flight leaves in an hour, and we haven’t checked in because the internet was too slow.

“John, I think we have to loop around and try again.” We can see the rental return and a big Hertz sign, but it’s on the other side of a parking lot and we can’t figure out how to get there. Maps isn’t helping much. So we loop back to the gates.

This time, John picks the middle gate. We go through and find ourselves in the same dumb lane on the other side of the median; it will take us back to the same exit gate, still missing the rental-return area.

Now John is super frustrated and yells, “Ugh, we did it again! We are gonna miss our plane! I’m jumping the median.”

“John! No! You can’t do that! Look—there are a bunch of cops over there where people are getting dropped off,” I warn him.

“I don’t care! I have to do it! I’m jumping the curb. No one will see,” he says.

“Please don’t! You’ll mess up the car, and we’ll get into trouble. Don’t do it!” I beg.

But John jumps the curb, and with a huge kerplunk we land on the other side, inside the terminal drop-off. I duck down as we pass the polizia. My heart is in my throat; I’m convinced we’re going to jail. But John sails right on by, and now we’re in another parking lot right next to the car rental return. He did it.

“John, you did it! We’re right there—we just have to go outside the gate and take a right. It’s right there!”

We pull up to the gate, and there is nowhere to put our ticket. It looks totally different from the other gate. No buttons, no signs, nothing.

No Way Out

“How do you open the gate?” John asks. Then it all makes sense. I look at the parking lot, and all I see are buses, black vans, limos, and taxis. We’re in the restricted area for official vehicles with airport passes. We’re totally stuck in there. That’s why they had three gates—the far-right gate was probably opened only with a pass, but John jumped the curb. So unless you break the rules, there’s no way to get into—or out of—that parking lot.

“John, this is the taxi zone. You have to have a pass to get out. That’s why you shouldn’t have jumped the curb! Now what? We’re stuck and won’t be able to get out.”

John starts to figure it out and backs up, trying to drive backward into the terminal drop-off near the polizia.

“NO WAY!!! No you don’t! Absolutely not! You CANNOT drive against traffic through there. STOP!” He stops and says, “Okay, I won’t. I’ll just jump the curb again.” I look—this curb is super high, like two feet. There’s no way our little car can do it.

“No way! You will wreck the car. Look how high it is,” I warn him.

John thankfully doesn’t argue.

We’re both frustrated, yelling, irritated, and totally stuck. Now our flight leaves in 45 minutes. John parks next to a taxi and says, “I’m just leaving it here. It’s close enough. I’m gonna go drop off the keys and be done with it, or we’ll miss our flight.”

“Maybe we can find a taxi driver and he will let us out,” I say.

“No time for that. I’m dropping off the keys and getting out of here.”

John leaves me with the suitcases and runs to drop the keys. I panic while I wait—it’s obvious what we did with the only normal car in the lot. I imagine the polizia coming or a taxi driver yelling at me in Italian and I won’t know what to do. I count the seconds. I can’t move because there are too many suitcases to roll at once, and after being robbed in Rome last year, I don’t want to leave them for a second, even though there’s not a soul in sight. I have no choice but to wait for John and hope no one sees me.

As I wait, I feel so angry and frustrated. Why did he do such a stupid thing? Why does he have to break the rules? I NEVER would have jumped the curb. We’re in this mess because he broke the rules. I worry the Hertz people will know we jumped the curb—how else would we get into that restricted area? They’ll ding my record, my name will be mud, and I’ll probably get a ticket from the polizia, because the car is in my name and John is only the second driver.

I’m furious with John. He finally comes back, and I shoot him an “I’m-mad-at-you” face. He looks angry with himself because he knows he messed up.

The Darkness Expands

At check-in I’m looking at my phone every two seconds because our flight is boarding and I’m worried about security. Our check-in agent seems new and quiet and unassertive and moves painfully slowly.

She finally announces that we did not check in online and must pay a fee for an at-counter check-in. More frustration! We had zero internet in Sardinia because our international plan was crawling at 2 Mbps and our Airbnb didn’t provide Wi-Fi, all in the name of “holiday relaxation.” Online check-in wasn’t possible.

We pay the stupid fee as the dark cloud over me expands. We get to our gate just in time and manage to board, sweaty from rushing, with our carry-ons and bad attitudes.

“I’m going to text Martin what we did and tell him where the car is,” I announce. Martin is the guy we rented the car from. We had to pick the car up downtown because there were no cars left at the airport. Martin gave me his personal number in case we needed anything.

I text Martin a huge apology, tell him where we left the car, and leave out the part where John jumped the curb. He writes back right away.

“Oh great! Martin says they will most likely have the car towed. That’s fantastic—so a police ticket, a fine, a towing fee, and God knows what Hertz will do to us,” I tell John from the depth of my dark storm cloud.

John closes his eyes and purses his lips tight to hold in the insults he would love to throw my way. As we take off and leave Sardinia, Martin, and the rental car behind, I feel completely annoyed and resentful with John and worried about Rome. We have to catch a train or taxi from the airport to the train station and then a train to Florence.

I haven’t done it before and I’m not sure where to go or what to do. I don’t feel like trusting John’s judgment at this point, and now we have all kinds of negative energy over us like a swirling vortex with a billboard that reads, “Come and mess with us, steal everything we have, and make sure you trip us and kick us when we are down.” I can only imagine what we will attract. I’m starting to feel like the whole day will be cursed.

Going Into Battle

Last year two gypsies stole our luggage out of our car. John caught them in the act, and they tried to run him over. I lost everything I had on that trip—my computer, my art, art supplies, jewelry, money, and everything I purchased. To me, Rome is a scary place where bad things happen to tourists, especially ones with a dark cloud hanging over them.

I tell John, “We need to pray and get our attitude right. We are about to go to Rome, and we can’t be walking around with all this luggage and bags and all of this negativity.” John is silent, lips still pursed tight, clearly irritated and holding back rage.

“Look, we both haven’t behaved well. We both have bad attitudes right now. I’m trying to change mine. Can you please pray and work on it?” I know I’m stirring the pot, but I feel desperate and can’t get it together.

I can see John feels terrible and like his mistake has brought on a lot of problems, fines, extra charges, and maybe even a police report. He’s worried and upset too. I’m straddling being angry with John, worried about Rome, and trying to shake my own negativity and resentment.

I know only God can flip my switch and get me in the right mind space. I think of everything I can possibly repent for and tell God about it—I’m sorry for yelling at John, for getting frantic about the police, for being afraid, for allowing myself to be angry, for blaming John for everything, and even for being momentarily happy when his rule-breaking seemed to work.

I feel my attitude leveling off and the frustration leaving me. I’m far from the positive attitude I need to face Rome, but at least it’s a start.

On our way to baggage claim, John says he needs water. He stops at a little cafe, and I wait. In just a few seconds, he stomps in, angry, and says, “Let’s go.”

I see he doesn’t have a bottle of water and his anger is mounting. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you get water?”

“Look, I’m not paying four euros for a bottle of water. I’m just sick of it! I’m tired of getting ripped off!” He lets a tiny bit of his rage out.

There is so much I want to say to him—of course I think him not paying four euros when he’s thirsty is ridiculous—but I hold it in with my last shred of self-control and see that we’re walking into a war zone, naked and unarmed.

From Baggage Claim to Breakthrough

As we wait for our luggage to come off the carousel, I tell John, “Look, I’m going to pray, because I can’t go into Rome and face whatever we will face like this. We need God, and clearly He is the only one that can fix us.”

“God, please forgive us for our rotten, negative attitudes. We are sorry for letting such small things get to us. We are sorry for breaking the law, jumping the curb, and being irresponsible. Forgive us for the last two hours and everything we thought and said to each other that was unloving.

“Forgive me for being angry and resentful toward John. It was just a simple mistake and not as big a deal as I made it. We need you. Help us with our attitudes. Help us to turn our hearts toward positivity and gratefulness. Remove this dark cloud hanging over us and protect us from frustrations, theft, or fear. We give this day to you and wait for you to rescue us from ourselves.”

I see John take a deep breath, exhale slowly, look at me, and say, “Okay, everything is going to be better.”

We walk through the exit doors and leave every dark thought behind in baggage claim. Right away, we see a cafe.

“John, you are thirsty—go buy water there, no matter what it costs. It’s okay. Things cost more at airports.”

He walks over to get water. I look around and notice I’m standing right next to a kiosk that says “Train, Bus and Taxi Tickets.” I walk up to the window and ask the lady the best way to get to Florence.

She says, “You need a train ticket to the main terminal downtown, and then another ticket to Florence. You will switch trains in Rome.”

“That sounds complicated. Maybe I should take a taxi to the train station downtown,” I ask.

“No! Don’t do that. The taxi will be four times the price and take you an hour. The train is direct, one stop, and will only take you 30 minutes,” she assures me.

“Okay, I’ll do what you say. Is the train far to walk?” I ask.

“Only eight minutes. It’s easy—just follow the signs.”

I buy the tickets and turn to see John standing next to me.

“I have the tickets!” I announce. “We just walk eight minutes that way and get on the train. It only has one stop, and then we switch to a high-speed train to Florence. We’ll be in Florence before 1 p.m.!” I’m really selling it to John, hoping he’ll be happy.

Just then, my phone buzzes. “Oh! Martin just messaged me! He says he found the car and will bring it to Hertz himself!” I’m blown away. “John! He’s so nice! He drove all the way to the airport and found the car and is getting us out of this mess.” I’m jubilant and raise my hand to give John a high-five.

John grabs my hand, closes his eyes, and says, “Thank you, God!” He lets out the rest of his anxiousness with a big exhale. “See, everything is turning around.”

We walk effortlessly along our yellow-brick road to the train. When we get there, it is literally waiting with doors open. We get seats next to each other, there is space for our luggage, and as soon as we sit down the doors close and the train leaves.

The rest of our day was just like that. The stormy clouds left and were replaced by glittery pink clouds full of unicorns and rainbows. Joy, ease and favor followed us all the way to Florence. The vibe around us was tangibly different than our morning.

The Power of Prayer and Positivity

So many things can set us off. We each have a list of familiar triggers that get us spinning in the wrong direction. One bad painting day can set a whole series of events into motion. One wrong turn leads to another, and before we can stop it, we are falling off a cliff or spiraling down into a dark abyss of frustration, self-doubt, fear, worry, or rage.

We all know not to let outside circumstances affect us like this. We know to rise above it, keep the frequency high, dwell on what is noble, true, and beautiful, walk in gratefulness, and count our blessings. We have read the books, listened to the podcasts, and swallowed the preach, but we still get mired in the vortex of negativity at times. At least I do.

I try to pull myself out. I try to engage what I know to be true. I try to flip the script in my head. But sometimes I just can’t. It won’t flip. I have come to the end of myself with nowhere else to go.

This is when I admit I need God and only God. Only God can pull me out of the pit. I need His magical touch. I need His loving embrace and His understanding without judgment. I just need what is greater in me than myself. I need Papa to intervene and take over.

I have this constant need in business, in my art practice, in my relationships, in my mistakes and failures. I need this to move forward and get somewhere else than where I am.

Our little prayer in baggage claim was the first time that morning I let something bigger steer, and everything softened. Surrender wasn’t defeat; it was the small brave thing that saved the day—and perhaps saved us from a much worse fate.

What do you do when you need to break out of a bad attitude?

Share your thoughts in the comments below!