I spent three minutes practicing French in my head before riding that tricycle.
I'd found the street name on my phone while scouting for work cafes in Marikina — C-H-A-M-P-A-G-N-A-T. Something about the spelling made me stop. I knew enough to know I didn't know enough. So I Googled it. Listened to the audio. Said it a few times quietly. "Champag-neau."
Okay. Okay good. I was ready.
The tricycle driver opened with "Saan tayo, sir?" and I delivered my line with complete confidence: "Sa Champagneau po."
His eyebrows raised. He pulled in a little closer to ensure that he would hear me.
"Ser? Tsam-pag-NAT po? Yung malapit sa school?" (Lutong ng pagkasabi ni kuya)
I sheepishly said "opo" and quietly watched the road.
(Trivia — Marcellin Champagnat was a French priest and one of the founders of the Marist Brothers, the congregation behind Marist School in Marikina. The street is named after him.)
I sat in that tricycle thinking about all the preparation I'd done — the research, the rehearsal, the quiet pride — and how none of it was what actually got me where I was going.
What got me there was being willing to hear "Tsam-pag-NAT" and just say opo.
All that preparation, and the thing that actually moved me forward was just one word: "opo."
I've started to think that adaptability isn't the opposite of preparation. It's what preparation is for — so that when the road conditions correct you, you're secure enough to just follow it.
The flexible ones don't arrive lost. They just arrive faster.