My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. I was heading on a solo journey that would take me across the pond, about 4,400 miles away, to the Lake District in England. It had been years since I traveled solo, and now that I am 69 years old with health issues, the prospect of traveling solo seemed daunting. Struggling, I managed to lug my heavy luggage up the stairs to the Brightline train platform on my way to Orlando airport. The first leg of the journey was pleasantly surprising. I rode first class and was served lunch of cold turkey and salad. The ride was smooth. I can do this, I thought, relaxing for a minute.
The connection between the Brightline train station and Orlando Airport was fantastic. Virgin Airlines departures were nearby, so I did not have to walk far. I did have to wait a couple of hours before my flight took off. That was enough time to get my nerves started up again, and anxiety brought my heart rate up to the 150s; I felt shaky and dizzy. My smartwatch kept buzzing with a warning: ” Your heart rate is up while you are sitting,” which made me even more anxious. Finally, I boarded my direct flight to Manchester Airport and settled into my chosen window seat. Each seat had a goodie bag from the airline, with a blanket, pillow, and headphones. We were served a full meal and drinks. Not too shabby. It was an 8-hour flight; luckily for me, I got some sleep, and my legs did not act up too much. (I have restless legs.) Upon arrival in Manchester, I was assaulted by the icy cold weather. This was January 1st, the heart of winter. Having lived in Florida for so long, I had forgotten what it felt like to be cold, really cold, not the feeble winter cold days in Florida.
Now, for the third leg of my journey, I had to find my way to the train station that was supposed to be nearby, but the directions were not clear enough. I kept walking and walking through the airport, trying to find this train station. I went outside, then back inside. Sweating with anxiety, I finally got good directions from an airport attendant and made my way down the long tunnel to the train station. I purchased my round-trip ticket and was informed that, after a certain point, the railroad was down for maintenance, and I would have to take a bus and another train to my final destination. Great! I struggled once again to get on the platform, only to find out I needed to be on the other side’s platform. Since there were no elevators, I lugged my luggage up the stairs and across to the other platform. I swear it was getting heavier by the minute. All along, I was feeling lightheaded, and my chest was hurting. The train arrived, and I boarded. I found a comfortable spot for my luggage and a seat nearby. The transition from the train to the bus was horrible. The stairs were steep, and the crowd was rushing. I felt like I could pass out any minute. A young man offered to help me with my luggage, which I was extremely grateful for. Quickly, I tossed the luggage into the bus bin and boarded. It was a long 1-hour bus ride to the next train station. The seats were narrow and high, and I struggled to put on the required seat belt over my coat. Another mad dash to catch the next train that would take me to Ulverston, my destination. Ulverston train station is a tiny, small-town station with no taxis waiting outside for you. I had to call for a taxi from my phone, which I could not manage. Another kind person at the station called a taxi for me. My final destination was the Manjushri Kadampa Meditation Center, Buddhist World Peace Temple, and Priory, where I was to spend the next 30 days counting 100,000 mantras on prayer beads and chanting prayers. 30 Days of solitude.
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