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Most people would assume I’m a fairly competent and confident traveler, but alas. The last time I boarded a plane alone for some faraway locale, paper tickets were still in use. It’s been a long time, and in that time I lost my knowledge and fearlessness. Is it me in my twenties versus me in my forties? That the things I didn’t bat an eye at back then are cause for almost debilitating anxiety now simply because I’m an older creature (and a huge homebody)? I can’t fully answer that question. I do know that if this year had been solely up to my own planning, a lone trip never would have happened. Fortunately, I have a husband who sees the things I need that may scare me off, but are ultimately for my deep good. He’s also incorrigible, so when he sees the necessity for me to travel on a pleasant road I wouldn’t choose for myself… he does what it takes.

For years now I’ve been a fly on the wall of a community called The Rabbit Room. For almost as many years I’ve had “go to their conference” on my bucket list. When I put things on my bucket list and say them out loud to Brian I don’t intend to be taken serious because, obviously, I’m not. It goes on the bucket list in order for me to feel better about the fact that I’ll never do it. Getting on the list is movement enough for me to pat myself on the back. The community is probably one in which I could find kindred spirits, and the content definitely hits that right note of intense academia, theology, and whimsy you don’t find many places. I believe it is a worthy community and feel those who attend the annual gathering in person are blessed, but I easily dismiss my own right to sit at the table to find those maybe-friends and hear the edifying content. Suppose I did actually go to a conference. These people know each other. They’re smart. They’re artists. They’ll sniff out my fraudulent existence in a hot second, and then it’ll just be this painfully awkward weekend feeling inadequate and sad. When the email came that their next conference would be in Oxford, I got a text from Brian. “You’re going.” That’s it. Just that. I found all sorts of reasons it would be impossible… absolutely impossible… for me to go. He swept them all aside and just kept saying, “I hear that. It’ll be no problem. You’re going.” Eventually in these circular conversations I realized the only way out of it would be to say, “I’m too scared. Back off and leave me to my undone bucket list.” As the good Lord would have it, I was reading a homeschooling/parenting book around that same time encouraging moms to do things that scare them. To adventure without your husband in order to show your kids that you, too, do things that are hard and terrifying and edifying. I may have thrown the book, but I took its advice and said yes.

I didn’t feel much but excitement until one month before the trip. Suddenly, I had all sorts of mysterious gut issues that may be something physical (I will be getting it checked out in Australia later this year by a specialist), but was probably the huge helping of fear I was hosting. Brian had everything as perfectly planned out and prepared for me as he could, and ended up helping me loads from a distance (how DID people travel before the little blue dot on your iPhone told you and your faraway husband with whom you shared your location exactly where to go??). The packing, travel, and various hotel check-ins were all so easy. I overcame my fear of figuring out the public transit system and got two broken down buses for my troubles. But in the end… how was it? Instead of continuing on in endless prose recounting the trip, I’ll now let the pictures speak with bits of help.

The girls came to the airport and didn’t want to do a drop and run. They wanted to come in and see me all the way off. It was heartening to be honest with them about how nervous I was and find them to be my understanding cheerleaders.

Brian made one request in light of the trip going from about 8 days away from Madang to 13 days, thanks to plane schedules: don’t hide in the hotel room with all your extra days. Go explore. The girls asked me to please, please, please try to see The Kilns (C.S. Lewis’s house) and the pub where The Inklings regularly met. The same day I arrived, I checked into the hotel and turned right around to tour the house. It was an adventure getting there that involved the aforementioned broken buses, but I arrived. I was there early and found a little path at the end of the road that clearly led to a nature reserve. In the middle of this residential neighborhood I found the pond and grounds he used to own and walk while contemplating all his great contemplations. It was the perfect way to settle my heart and fill my spirit with deep gratitude that I was actually here!!!

The second day was another I will not forget. A friend from Madang is on furlough back in England for a few months. She was in the Cotswolds nearby with her family, and her husband graciously let her spend the entire day with me doing touristy things! We had nourishing conversation and saw Magdalen College where Lewis spent many years as a professor. We walked and had lunch on Addison’s Walk where he had his famous late night conversion conversation with Hugo Dyson and J.R.R. Tolkien. Ray collects rocks from special places she visits, so I took a picture of an oddly shaped chunk of gravel there on Addison’s Walk, and then took it home to add to her treasure box.

After all the exciting discoveries of the first two days, I still had the actual conference! As I was facing a whole trip themed with “overcome your fears,” I asked Ray to do something that made her nervous. Her favorite author, Andrew Peterson, was the keynote speaker and I knew I’d almost certainly have a chance to deliver some fan mail, so I asked for a letter. She did it and was ever so disappointed that she had some misspellings, but I told her they stand. It was genuinely written from the heart and would be false if I gave him a version where I fixed her flare. As expected, he was incredibly gracious about receiving her note and had some comments: 1) he was delighted by her creative spelling of “especially” and immediately showed it off to another author standing there and 2) her handwriting was impressive. She has stayed pretty shy about the whole thing, but clearly glows inside. It was really “speshl” to share with her the experience of doing something unnerving simply because it is a good thing to do.

I found those instant friends. There were two moms also living the expat life and also raising third culture kids attending the conference. We all love the same things and had lunches and dinners and breaks full of intense and deep conversations about living overseas, sorrow, joy, and how art has influenced our lives. We now have a WhatsApp group to stay in touch and maintain that connection of understanding we don’t necessarily have in our normal lives.

The last couple of days I tried to soak in all that I could of Oxford. I went to church, visited several Harry Potter sites for nieces, and saw my cousin who is taking some summer courses there. I also got to experience the historic English heatwave in all its glory. The hotel had no AC, so I felt right at home. While I ate my last meal of Nutella and banana crepe on my sweltering walk back to the hotel, I mused on the depth of beauty this trip gave me. I did some serious soul-searching during the conference that I’m still processing, and I left feeling full. Full to bursting. I found my extroverted self in Oxford and I also found healing from the still raw wounds of 2020. Once home again, I dove back into school, but with stories and excitement and dreams of when I’ll return with family in tow. Oh! all the adventures together we’ll have.