A mysterious appendage has recently imposed itself upon the otherwise symmetrical design of the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. It's a small "terminal within a terminal" that hosts regional aircraft serving smaller cities. A wide vestibule leads unsuspecting passengers away from the watching eyes and listening ears of busy Concourse B. If you're a frequent traveler of this American airline, you shudder when monitors identify your flight's gate as anything between B30 and B39.

Because flights rarely actually depart from Gates 30 through 39.

I imagine the conversations among the decision-makers sound something like this: "The crew scheduled for Louisville hasn't reported to work yet. Gate change to 37...We don't have an aircraft available for Omaha. Gate change to 34 and cancel the flight...We've got an aircraft missing it's left wing. Tow it over to Gate 32. Announce we have a maintenance issue and a delay."

One recent Saturday night, I sat huddled in a quiet corner awaiting news of my flight home--already delayed for hours. Suddenly, within a space of minutes, virtually every flight scheduled for Gates 30 through 39 was announced as delayed or canceled. I thought for certain that anarchy was about to break out among the exhausted, frustrated travelers.

I've kindly suggested to the CEO of this American airline that he pay a visit to Gates 30 through 39 one evening, and to perhaps occasionally ride his planes.

He has yet to RSVP.

I'm convinced that the DFW facility, Gates 30 through 39, was built to contain the anguish and anger of weary travelers whose flights have been inexplicably delayed or canceled. It calls to mind an institution for the mentally ill that moves its hopelessly insane to an isolated ward--where their cries will not upset the general population. But, honestly, I do understand that's not a fair comparison.

For the hopelessly insane are arguably not conscious of their condition.

But let's assume the curious little annex, Gates 30 through 39, was indeed built to isolate the cries of the disenfranchised air traveler. It reminds me how we tend to compartmentalize our own internal worlds.  

Negatively, we compartmentalize when we isolate thoughts and behaviors that may conflict with our values. Perhaps you've rationalized internal conflict or external behavior by thinking, "It's not me; it's just good business." Or, "It's how they expect me to be." Or, "It's simply how I get when I'm upset."

Where does negative compartmentalization show up in your life? Unlike the aircraft parked at Gates 30 through 39, does it fly? Does it get you where you need to be?

Is there a way that the ability to compartmentalize can be of benefit when it doesn't compromise your integrity? A way, perhaps, to manage stressors beyond your control and instead focus your attention on those things within your control or influence?