It was supposed to be a smooth two hour flight back. But Shanghai had other plans.
A typhoon swept in, and every flight out of the city was canceled. I found myself standing in a moderately long line at Pudong Airport—not snaking through terminals or wrapped around stanchions, but still, a delay, a delay to get rescheduled. What struck me more than the line itself was how eerily empty the terminal felt. Flights were canceled, people were grounded… and yet, if not in reality, to me, it was quiet.
The normal talking chatter, but no shouting, no chaos. Just stillness. And in that stillness, my thoughts began to surface.
I started thinking about my daughter. About my wife. About all that had to happen—and align—for us to be together. For this little life, my newest daughter, to now be on her way into the world.
While standing in that line, I messaged Xue and wrote:
“I was reminded of a verse in the book of Jeremiah, chapter 1 verse 5, in the Old Testament. It goes like this: ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.’”
That verse gave me peace. A reminder that even before we knew each other, God already knew her. Already knew this daughter He was bringing into our lives.
“Kiss your lips so gently, my beautiful wife.”
It’s strange how a delay can become a door. I had time to reflect, not just on the past few days of tech and travel, but on what it all meant.
There was WAIC, where China’s future tech is being shaped with hardware and hustle. There was the XR large scale exhibition, where I felt history and art come alive in an empty room. There was the park toast with strangers, the humid subway rides, the warm broth of noodles at midnight.
None of it planned. None of it perfect. All of it unforgettable.
Now, writing this from the back of a DiDi in Dalian, I’ve landed safely.
I slept the whole flight, the kind of sleep only a weary traveler earns. And as we landed, something subtle happened—the rush to stand was noticeably less. The usual jockeying for position was even calmer. No elbows to the aisle. Just a tired stillness, as if even the most restless travelers felt it:
Sometimes life tells you to pause.
So here I am, watching the familiar streets roll past the window as I head home. Tired, grateful, and aware that the story isn’t about the storm. It’s about what you’re given the space to feel in the quiet between destinations.
Sometimes the delay is the moment.
Echo From The West 