My wife, Genevieve, and I recently took a ten-day trip to Europe, a well-earned getaway that promised fine cuisines, art, old-world charm, and the illusion of having things figured out. We made Brussels our home base, a place of delightful contradictions, where a statue of a peeing boy is somehow a national treasure and chocolate and waffles are treated more seriously than religion.

Our plan was simple: use the train system to visit nearby cities. See Bruges. Explore Amsterdam. Spend time in Paris. It sounded easy enough: clean stations, reliable schedules, and the rhythmic motion of travel lulling us into daydreams of cobblestone streets and café conversations.

What we found was anything but simple. Belgium’s rail system is not unified. Unlike the systems in Germany or Switzerland, where one pass gives access to nearly every train, tram, and bus, Belgium offers a fragmented network owned by different companies that seem to avoid communicating with each other entirely. There is no single pass and no clear set of rules—just a series of conflicting instructions in multiple languages.

At one station, a helpful employee confidently directed us to a train bound for Bruges. We followed his advice, boarded the train, and settled in. Halfway through the journey, a stern conductor approached. She looked at our tickets, looked at us, and then narrowed her eyes as if we had insulted her grandmother. She informed us that we were on the wrong train—not to the wrong destination but with the wrong company. Different ticketing system. Not allowed. She issued a citation that included a fine, a reminder that in the world of public transportation, ignorance was not a defense.

Later, I tried to pay the fine online. Nothing appeared in the system. The violation, it seems, either had not been entered yet or never would be. I can only assume Belgium is quietly building a case against me. Interpol may or may not have a file labeled Dalley, Brendan: Train Fugitive. 

During our stay in Belgium, we spent more time on the wrong trains than the right ones. We were rerouted, redirected, and sometimes reversed. And yet, some of our favorite moments came from those unexpected detours.

Once, we stepped off a misdirected train into a quiet village we had never heard of. Brick buildings lined the streets. Flowers spilled from window boxes. The pace of life felt slower and more generous. We wandered without a plan and laughed more in that place than we had in most of the popular tourist spots.

Our experience in Belgium taught me an important life lesson: sometimes, even when you follow the directions and listen to the experts, you still end up somewhere you never expected. You can do everything right and still find yourself off course.

This is especially true when it comes to personal health and wellness. It’s not always about picking the perfect, most healthy “train” from the start. Rather, it’s about what you do once you realize the train you’re on isn’t taking you where you thought it would. Do you panic? Do you freeze? Or do you stay curious, assess your surroundings, and make a change?

The moment you recognize you’re headed in the wrong direction is the moment you gain the power to respond. You can’t undo how you got there, but you can choose to get off. It might take effort. It might test your patience. You might have to ask for help. Or you might have to wait. But the good news is this: once you see it clearly, you can do something about it.

If you find yourself on the wrong track in life, take a breath. Look out the window. Learn something. Laugh if you can. Then, when you are ready, move toward the right direction with a little more wisdom and a little less fear.

You are never stuck unless you choose to stay seated!