Two nights into my trip, I laid on a hostel bed in Hamburg, Germany, and sobbed into my pillow until I realized that I was having an allergic reaction to the fabric. It had been a stressful day of train delays, miscommunication, jet-lag-induced disorientation, and finally a flu that left me cowering in the hostel bathroom wanting to die. It was the first, but certainly not the last, time that I asked myself (mentally screaming to the heavens with arms outstretched), “What on earth am I doing here?”
The rest of the world loses its luster when the man you’re going to marry in two months is four thousand miles away. I couldn’t have the sorrowful satisfaction of blaming him; of course it was my fault for deciding to take the trip, my decision to continue with my plans, my yearning for one last solo trip that brought me here. No one to blame but me.
The next day, I hopped a train from Hamburg to Neumunster, where Uncle Steve was going to pick me up. I forced myself to eat a Clif bar, then plugged in my headphones and leaned my head against the window and stared out in a daze at the old buildings rolling by. Why am I here? I kept asking myself. Why on earth did I come here?
I was listening to Love, a Beatles remix album created for the Cirque de Soleil show. This lulled me into a place of dull consciousness, where everything looked close and far away, and my insides felt empty and my head felt detached from my body. (Jet lag is awful.) The last song on the album is All You Need Is Love. Of course, I’ve heard the song a hundred times. But this time, a single line hit me, a gong-note of pure clarity when all the rest of the world was a blur.
There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.
This line echoed in the back of my thoughts for the entire rest of the trip. I don’t know where John Lennon’s head was when he wrote the song, and I doubt that he believed in the concept of providence. But the words struck right to the middle of the thorn that pierces my heart. It was useless to think what I should be doing or rather be doing or might have been doing. I was here, now, in Europe, jet-lagged and homesick and lonely and scared, and that meant that this moment, this place in time, was where I was meant to be. God’s plan always works out, and I am part of that plan.
Thanks to John Lennon, God showed me that everything was going to be okay.
It wasn’t the last time that I felt homesick or stressed out or ill. But every time I get worried or miss Zachary or wish I was going home sooner, I stopped to think of the words. I learned to accept what was happening and enjoy it for what it was. Getting sick in Salzburg was the last time that I felt like I wanted to be home instead of Europe. After that, I floated along in the moment. I embraced the homesickness but enjoyed what I was experiencing at that time. I didn’t wish to be anywhere than where I was right now, because it was useless to do so. And the last three weeks were incredible in so many ways.
By the end of my trip, I looked back on everything— even the first couple of horrible jet-lagged days— with a warm glow. The trip had been stressful, a little traumatizing at points, but ultimately satisfying. I spent six weeks in Europe, navigating trains, figuring out logistics, avoiding pickpockets, speaking broken German and Dutch and French, meeting people, connecting with people, gaining new perspective on culture, beholding the beauty in nature and in architecture, and all this by myself (with a lot of help from my new friends).
Then I returned home, content with the time I had been away, and content with the time I now have at home. The new chapter of my life is opening, and I couldn’t be more excited.
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| Time to spend the rest of my life with this man. I think my smile says it all. |
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is this your husband :):)
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