Everyone misses a train at some point

I used to believe that when something went wrong, it was because I wasn’t paying enough attention.

Miss the flight, miss the connection, miss the moment—there had to be a flaw in me that caused it.

A lapse. A carelessness. A failure to stay properly alert.

So I would stand there, ticket in hand or bruise still fresh, replaying the seconds before it happened.

If I had left earlier.

If I had looked up.

If I had slowed down.

As if the past could be negotiated into changing.

But that’s not how these moments actually work.

Everyone misses a train at some point.

Everyone walks into a low beam, chooses the wrong platform, turns left instead of right.

These aren’t symbols until we make them so. They’re interruptions—ordinary ones—built into the way movement works.

The mistake isn’t the event.

The mistake is staying there.

What I’ve learned is that the cost doesn’t come from missing the flight.

It comes from standing in the terminal long after, staring at the empty gate, trying to extract meaning from the departure board.

Trying to finish yesterday before allowing myself to enter today.

But life doesn’t wait for that kind of closure.

There’s always another train being announced.

Another platform.

Another street already in motion.

The real skill isn’t preventing every miss.

It’s knowing when the miss has already done its job.

Once the information is delivered—slow down, include yourself, pay attention—there’s nothing left to prove.

Carrying the moment forward doesn’t make you wiser. It just makes you late again.

So now, when something like that happens, I try to treat it the way seasoned travelers do.

I check the board.

I adjust.

I move.

No punishment.

No narrative.

No lingering at the scene.

Yesterday already left.

Today is boarding.

And I’d rather not miss this one too.

WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co