Emptiness and detachment

I am writing this from a quaint B&B--The Elms--in Bedford, England. I am here by myself, all week long. I have done some things, and I have done nothings. I have written a lot, and it has come to my mind that perhaps I should transfer some of my ponderings to a blog, so that some of my dear friends and family will know A) that I am alive and well and B) that I am thinking, and that I wish them to think as well. What follows are smatterings of thought from the first half of my solitary holiday.

25 October
So. Yesterday I arrived in London. I embarked on the off-chance of meeting up with Dan and Jayne Taylor. I failed, but as a consolation prize I met up with the whole England Term '09 group from Bethel at the ever-lovely Celtic Hotel (this is the the part where all you ET alums let out a big sigh and say, "Weetabix? Tea for two?" go ahead... just do it). It was as it should have been: an awkward, bizarre surprise, but more or less enjoyable. I walked into the room where everyone was, and, being a year older than all of them, got strange looks of, "We know you, but why are you here?" As expected.

I finally got to The Elms about 10 p.m.... an hour and a half after my train pulled into Bedford. I could have taken a taxi. I could have even asked directions. But no... I think there's too much "man" in my family--thus bleeding into the usually-sensible women. Therefore, I was bound and determined to find my B&B on my own, 9:00 at night, in a strange city, with badly-scrawled directions from GoogleMaps. I had also forgotten how confusing streets in the UK can be. They are not blocked out symmetrically as in the US. Some streets start with one name and change 2 or 3 times over the course of a half mile. Some have a round-about in the middle of them, and you find yourself stuck in a Chevy-Chase style of navigation to get out of them. You begin to learn all the street names by heart (because you've gone around that bloody roundabout so many times), but you still don't know where the blazes you are. Some streets just stop in the middle of nowhere. And some don't have names at all. Or, they do, but you would have to be a resident of that street for at least 5 years to discover it.

Anyways, I got to The Elms (after almost making it all the way into another small village). Thankfully, Bedford is a safe enough city and there was no damage done, apart from blisters and slight dehydration. But gosh darn it, my pride was still intact. Ha.

(Just for kind manners' sake: You are allowed to stop reading this at any time. Don't feel as if you must make it 'til the end--this is merely a purging to get rid of the slight guilt I feel for being an inconsistent blogger.)


26 October
In detachment lies the wisdom of uncertainty... in the wisdom of uncertainty lies the freedom from our past, from the known, which is the prison of past conditioning. And in our willingness to step into the unknown, the field of all possibilities, we surrender ourselves to the creative mind that orchestrates the dance of the universe.
--Deepak Chopra

I lifted that from the Facebook page of a friend back in the Czech Republic.
I am tired. I am in Oxford. And Oxford, while beautiful, is too peopled. If I could extract the presence of the buildings from the presence of the people, it would work out alright. When I travel alone, I feel detached, as if I am merely an observer. And that is exactly what I am. When I am alone, I get to examine life. But the examination drains me. But I find myself searching peoples' faces, asking them, "Do you care? Do you? Do you?" And they stare blankly, and walk into Debenhams. And then I shrug, and follow them. I don't know why. Poor people, they didn't ask for my analysis. They just came to do some shopping.

When I travel alone, I have time and energy to think. I am able to devote more than 5 minutes to thinking. This is a good thing. So, I turned to a question that had been on my mind ever since I moved to the Czech Republic. Why am I a Christian? This is a pressing and very important question--one that I need to be able to answer in a non-Christian society. I thought about this on the bus ride to Oxford. I tried in vain to come up with a profound sort of C.S. Lewish-ish quote. "Just answer the damn question for yourself, you fool!" I said, almost out-loud. I wish I would have. Okay. I went to the essence, the core of it. I am a Christian because I want, I need, I am, life. I want the fullest, most complete, most true life. And the farther I get into this full, true life, the more I never want anything else. And I know I will not get the full Truth ("You can't handle the Truth!" So true.), the full completeness of life here on earth, so I live with the hope and the faith that I will experience Life in full when my earthly life is done. "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." 1 Corinthians 13:12, in case you're wondering.


28 October
I was going to go to St. Neots today--another town near Bedford, just to "look around." I got back from breakfast and decided, no. Not today. I thought, I will get some work done today instead. I got to Costa Coffee and decided, no. Not today. I finished Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead." It had a sad ending, but a complete one. It ended as it should have--how the book wanted and needed to end. Rarely do I find a book that ends right.

I planned to go to the Hobgoblin (this is a pub) tonight, but chickened out just before I opened the door. I proceeded to walk around Bedford for the next hour, searching for a more "friendly" pub. I have discovered that no pub looks friendly to a young single girl traveling alone. It is unfortunate, but true. It is at times like these that I wish I were a man. Then it wouldn't matter, and I would be sitting in the Hobgoblin with my fish and chips and pint of Guinness. But, such as it is, my better judgment told me to accept my position and situation, and so here I sit at... drum roll please... Pizza Hut. But I intend to enjoy myself to the fullest extent. I have a glass of chardonnay before me. I never knew you could order wine at Pizza Hut. My surroundings--the music from the 90s, the ghastly, too-bright colors of the carpet and walls, and the young family sitting across the aisle from me--do not fit with my thoughts and state of mind. But it makes it humorous, and kind of quaint. So I will embrace it. I intend to get dessert, too. I think that will help.

I do not talk much around here. It makes sense--why should I, when I know no one? I only notice this because it is a complete 180 degree change from less than a week ago. My demeanor has completely changed. I do not smile much. I can imagine that I have a sort of off-putting air--a non-welcoming look on my face. But I need it to be that way. I am not so naive to think nothing could ever happen to me, just because I am in a country whose language I can understand. But inside I feel alive. I feel a sort of emptying of emotions, of worries, of responsibility. I feel cleansed, and free to think through things I have not had the time or energy to think through. I must look strange here, a young woman alone, sitting writing at a Pizza Hut with a glass of chardonnay. I don't care.

I don't know how to end this smorgasbord of a blog, so I'll cut it off like a Monty Python skit (i.e., a weight drops from the ceiling onto the stage) or even better, like Shakespeare (Exit, pursued by a bear). If you made it to the end, my apologies.

Blessings on you all, and thanks for all the e-mails/letters. They are much, much, much appreciated.