Stolen Peace

Moving from "Why me? to "What now?"

Last week, I took a quick trip to Chicago for work. As I was leaving for the airport to come home, I discovered that my wallet had been stolen earlier in the day. My bank had kindly notified me that someone was already jetting around the windy city with my card, having a grand old time. Oh joy. What fun.

Travel. It can be a gamble. Trains, planes, and automobiles can take us to incredible places. Unite us with people we love. Trips can also quickly become the things nightmares are made of. 

When I realized what had happened, my cortisol spiked. How was I going to get home? Knowing I had many hurdles ahead of me, I did my best to stay calm. I took many deep breaths. Then, I dialed my husband with shaky hands. Like a rock, he immediately stepped into action. As soon as we hung up, he began making calls to help clean up the mess.

In the parking lot of Portillos, I started to speculate. Where did it happen? How? When? But none of that mattered. The situation couldn’t be changed. I needed to radically accept my new reality and move forward—with haste.

My business partner, Brian, and I raced the clock to get to O’Hare, but as luck would have it, got stuck in bad traffic. Tick tock. Let’s goooo! We eventually reached the terminal. At the curb, I asked Brian for some cash so I could (hopefully) catch a cab home. “How much?” he asked. “I don’t know. What do you have?” He emptied his wallet. We laughed. It was just like bootstrapping a startup. I thanked him profusely, then, I steeled myself for the gauntlet ahead.

Trying to board a flight to get home without any form of identification is about as fun as it sounds. In case you ever find yourself in this unfortunate plight in the future, rest assured that our good friends at TSA have a process for you to verify your identity.  But, as I looked at the long lines in security, my stomach flipped. How was I ever going to make it to my gate on time?

I kept reminding myself to breathe. Finally, I reached the front of the line only to be informed that I needed to go to a different line for the special verification procedure. After what felt like an eternity in the second line, I was told the same story. Arughhhhhhhhh. I prayed #3 would be a charm but feared a strike instead. 

Eventually, I made it to where I needed to be. I explained my situation to the security agent. She smiled kindly and I could see the pity in her eyes. I was briefed on the protocol. I would need to verify answers to several questions to confirm my identity to her supervisor over the phone. The agent warned me that if I did not “pass” I would be held at the airport for 24 hours before I could attempt to try again. No pressure. I knew my fate was in the hands of a government bureaucrat sitting behind a computer somewhere. Game on.

The questions posed to me were simple enough. The whole thing would have been very straightforward if I hadn’t just moved into a new house from a foreign country the week before. As a military spouse, I’ve collected so many addresses and phone numbers in my day, it’s a miracle when I can remember the correct zip code when I’m trying to pay at the pump for my gas. When I was asked, “What is your address?” I told the truth. But, by the look in the agent’s eyes, I knew my previous address was not what was populating on the computer. “Your phone number, ma’am?” I hadn’t yet memorized my new one yet. Besides, it wouldn’t have shown up in the system. I gave the last 4 digits of a phone number from four moves ago. This went on for 10 more minutes. When the quiz show was complete, the agent hung up the phone and nodded. Relief washed over me. I scrambled to put my belongings in plastic bins. When my invasive pat down was complete, I ran to my gate. They were calling the final boarding group. Maybe, just maybe, I’d make it out. 

Next step: make my connection in Dallas. After a quick stop in Texas, I prepared for the last two hurdles–getting a taxi at the airport in a sketchy part of the city and convincing someone to let me on base in the middle of the night without my military ID. Miraculously, around 1 am, I walked through my front door and ran upstairs to kiss my babies, a disaster of a day behind me. 

In the days that followed, I spent two mornings waiting in lines to try to replace my IDs. I spoke to no less than 20 customer “service” agents from my banks and spent time in two of their branches. Dealing with the fallout of the pinched wallet was a hassle for sure. But, I kept reminding myself that everything was solvable with time and patience. 

Life is unpredictable, sometimes in ways that seem unfair. There’s not always a rhyme or reason for our circumstances. Lightning strikes. Flights get delayed. People steal your stuff. Yet, no matter what storms hit, we always have agency. When your plans are upended, don’t look back. Focus on what you can control and do your best to unhook from everything else. Move from “Why me?” to “What now?” Breathe. Recenter, and take the next best step. One foot, then the other. Eventually, you’ll find your way home and sort it all out.

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