Whatever my conception of God is, it’s oceanic, a vast energy field rather than any human-like agent that directs the minutiae of individual lives. On the other hand, it was hard not to feel there was some kind of intelligence behind the challenges that came up in my trip. A mischievous intelligence, one deeply in tune with the Yiddish proverb, “Man plans, God laughs.”

I’ve shared that, after decades of travel with Jack, I felt nervous about doing a big trip by myself. Last year, on my first trip to Europe after Jack’s death, I came up with a formula that worked nicely. I did my flights solo, but everywhere I went, I had company: my sister-in-law and niece in Vienna and Rome, my cousin in Paris, and the group at the retreat in Tuscany. I never had to spend a night alone in a hotel or face the discomfort of sitting in a restaurant and eating dinner by myself. 

But doing the trip at all—I felt like I’d scaled a mountain! I had no desire to climb higher. I was happy to make the same plan this time, starting with visiting my brother in Israel. Then a rocket landed near the Israeli airport, many airlines suspended service to Israel, and I had to change flights … resulting in a day alone in Athens at the beginning of the trip and a night alone in Rome on the way to the retreat. 

My day in Athens was delightful. I hung out at the Acropolis Museum, did an Acropolis tour, and took myself out for a divine dinner. Sitting in the restaurant—I felt a bit self-conscious, but I enjoyed myself.

God wasn’t done messing with me, though. My last afternoon in Israel, I visited a niece in Tel Aviv. She has a famously neurotic dog named Bouli … who attacked me! Luckily, I had no serious injuries, but enough to send me to urgent care to get two bites bandaged (one on my shin, the other on a finger). And the whole thing shook me up. I was awake most of the night feeling weepy (so missing Jack!). And I kept crying on the flight to Rome. It was one of those moments when I wished I could snap my fingers and go home. Once I got settled in my hotel that evening, I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball. I didn’t care about dinner. Except I was on antibiotics, and I needed a cushion of food for them to land on. 

I forced myself out the door. The first restaurant the hotel recommended had no space. I walked another ten minutes to the second recommendation. They had a table in the corner of the patio. And they had Marco!—a charming young waiter who I think gave me extra attention because I was alone … plus I looked pathetic with one finger completely wrapped in gauze. Marco brought me a plate of insanely good pasta pomodoro, and he kept checking to see if I needed anything else. Sitting all alone, the bustle of Rome on a Friday evening around me, I had a lovely time.

I shared this story in my yoga nidra group this morning and was asked how it felt in my body. Bigger, I said. I’m bigger than I thought.

By the way, after my various travel misadventures, I got some respite at the end of the trip: an offer of an upgrade to business class for the 10-hour flight from Frankfurt to Seattle. A taste of heaven!