One year ago today, I was on a train from Oslo to Bergen. It is considered to be one of the top ten most beautiful train rides in the world; some rank it number one. I did not know any of that before arriving in Norway a few weeks before for a fantastic five-week stay to close out my sabbatical.
The truth is I knew nothing really about Norway other than what I had read in a book during the pandemic in 2020. A country where some of the top favorites are hiking and sandwiches (two of my favorite things). So I was intrigued and smitten before I could even finish the paragraph I read that in. Then, four years later, there I was landing in Norway not knowing a living soul and no itinerary other than an apartment I had leased for the five weeks via a website and email correspondence and a car service I had booked to pick me up at the airport. To drill the point home on how unprepared I was, I googled on the plane from Amsterdam to Norway what the currency was for Norway. I am sure I should be embarrassed about that, but if you know anything about how I travel sometimes, you aren’t surprised. In my mind, it just heightened the adventure.
Another big draw for Norway was Bergen. It was spotlighted in the book I read, and initially, it was where I planned on basing out for my stay. I loved Bergen, but I am still glad I ended up basing out of Oslo.
The most interesting part of my three days in Bergen was what happened in the last 24 hours, which is why I find it strange that I feel so compelled to write about it today, on the anniversary of my heading there by train.
Maybe it is because there is a lesson in expectation, execution, and resolution (or even restoration) in those days there, and like any good story, one should begin the telling of it at the beginning.
First, I get nervous a lot. I rarely, if ever, let it stop me, but I 100% get nervous about all sorts of things. I was nervous about Bergen. After dreaming about it for four years, I was trying to tap down my expectations of what it would look and feel like. I also planned a hike that would be capped off by an exercise involving fire, two years’ worth of handwritten ‘instructions’ I had been following, and a prayer of sorts. The last part of the instructions was going to Bergen, so I think my body and soul knew there was an emotional landslide coming on the flip side, and my mind and heart had not yet been let in on. I still believe that is what landed me in nervous knots as I boarded the train that morning.
I have to tell you that I thought the train ride up to Zermatt, Switzerland, was the most beautiful one I had ever taken. The one between Oslo and Bergen matches, if not, beats it. The scenery was so breathtaking that you could not take a bad photo or fully capture it. I cannot recommend it enough to add it to your personal bucket list.
What I want to share today, and I believe I am being pushed internally to remember, is that sometimes the most beautiful, breathtaking, and important decisions of our lives make no sense to the outside world. I am really lucky that I had seven individuals who had been praying for me, holding my hand (literally or virtually), and believing in me and with me about a set of instructions. Even I wonder from time to time if any of them believed in their authenticity. I would not have blamed them if they did not.
A part of me knows that if the whole world knew what I walked out and walked away from over those two years, they would think I was crazy. I know that. But then, a year later, you have a conversation with someone who, with a single update on a situation that would have previously involved you, validates all of your choices. You then wonder why you ever hesitated, questioned, or—on a train ride in one of the most beautiful places in the world—was nervous about the symbolic finality of it all.
I have fantastic instincts.
I forgot that for a season.
I let others tell me who I was versus standing in who I was.
I did not do this in all ways or all areas, but that matters not.
Questioning your instincts in even a single area of your life can spread like a virus claiming ground across other areas of your life.
It has taken the better part of a year to regain the ground I lost and trust my gut again.
A year ago, I had no idea why I was a bundle of nerves. I will write about the hike and the train ride home in a few days, but I can see so clearly now that the instructions were on the verge of becoming a crutch. I didn’t trust myself a year ago. I needed those instructions to get to that point, but God knew it was time for me to get kicked out of the nest (so to speak).
It was funny, too (not haha), that I had difficulty reaching my people while in Bergen. They all seemed to have other (very important) stuff going on those same few days. I remember feeling really lonely for the first time since going on sabbatical. Looking back now, I see that was the beginning of some fundamental changes in a lot of my relationships—not all of them pleasant.
Again, parts of me knew.
I guess what I am trying to say (ineloquently) is that our mind, body, soul, and heart know when change is upon us. Sometimes, it takes a minute for them to sync up altogether, but there is not a single doubt in my mind that they know. Once they know, they start preparing the other parts of us. Good change, hard change, bad change, the best of changes.
Transition seasons are full of ups and downs, surprises, and growth (and yes changes). When you are sliding into one, often all you can think of is salivating at the opportunity for freedom, relief, peace, rest, and for the love - happiness. All that comes - sometimes in spurts and other times all at once. It doesn’t come without work, though. Nothing worth having ever does.
So, one year later, I am still wide-eyed, though not as doe-eyed as I was on that train to Bergen. I am still grateful for every single bit of my life: the transition season, the lessons, and my people. I am still me. A year older, maybe a little wiser, a little better. Indeed, I am happier and have a much easier relationship with the word hope.
To sum up, I will awkwardly quote myself from something I wrote while riding the train one year ago today…
“There is something about this country that triggers a knowing or remembering inside of me, but I can’t put my finger on what or where.
I’m praying the next few days to unlock some things that are still…well, stuck.
I have Clark Griswold Expectations (my Sis would say).
The simple truth is that I was born with a big, expectant heart. It is actually something I have grown to love and trust about myself, and frankly I am shocked to this day that I never fully lost it.
…which is why I know deep inside there is something MORE to experience here. My heart isn’t done yet.
So here is to the searchers among us as we expectantly scan the horizon for what we know not…yet.
Also, please let me take these trees + fog home with me. Please and thank you.”
So, for anyone reading this…
I hope you never lose hope.
That you never know a day you do not trust yourself or your instincts.
That on the flip side of your own transitions, you take the time to appreciate how far you have come.
Finally, remember that beauty heals. What or who do you consider beautiful? Spend time with beauty.
Trust me.
“Questioning your instincts in even a single area of your life can spread like a virus claiming ground across other areas of your life.” YES!! A timely reminder.
Norway has been on my bucket list since marrying into a PROUDLY Norwegian family and this only solidified my desire to go. I love reading about your experiences travelling and the growth/lessons that came with.