“The tunnel?” I repeated, feeling curious.

Why do we need a reservation?

This was another part of England I hadn’t heard of yet.

“The Channel Tunnel”, they said.

I shrugged, shaking my head.  I still didn’t know.

I must’ve looked like a dog who heard a whistle humans can’t hear.

They explained it was a way to travel from England into Europe through France.

We would be going underneath the English Channel.

Under the water.

Into France.

We’d need our passports for the border check.

My passport.

From England to France.

No plane.

This adventure suddenly felt bigger than a tunnel under water.

I sat there for a second, letting that land, sipping my tea.

“So how does it work?  You’re buying a ticket for us to use the tunnel to drive to France?”

“Is it like the Midtown Tunnel in New York?” I asked.  “The one that runs under the East River?”

I was familiar with that underwater tunnel.

You pay a toll to drive through it.

They responded, “Not quite like that.  We can’t drive through it”.

They explained that we’d drive the car onto the train, which would carry us into France.

I had so many questions.

Would we see the water from inside the tunnel?

You can’t in the Midtown tunnel but then you’re driving so it would be distracting.

How long does it take?

Where in France were we going?

I was feeling excited about this new experience even though France was not at the top of my “countries I’d like to visit” list.

I felt grateful for another unexpected experience.  We spent the rest of the evening discussing the details.

Ok, so we’d all be passengers in our car, which would be transported on the train.

They explained the trip through the Channel Tunnel would take roughly thirty minutes or so and there wouldn’t be anything to see.

Oh my, thirty minutes. Got it!

Thirty minutes in a train underwater felt like a long time.

We decided to leave Tuesday, and their daughter would be coming with us.  That meant we could each bring only a carry-on size suitcase so everything fit in the car.

I was told to pack for a few days stay and I suddenly found myself wishing it was spring, summer or fall so I wouldn’t have to contend with trying to pair up outfits for these heavy winter sweaters.

It’ll be fine, I thought.

As they were discussing key points of interest, and their daughter’s need to bring her school computer with her so she could stay on track with school assignments and lessons, I was absorbed in the idea of needing to get my stuff organized.

“What would I pack?”

When Tuesday came, we packed ourselves into the car and prepared to leave the comfort of their home behind.

I did not know what it would feel like to travel beneath the English Channel for thirty plus minutes.

Or, more importantly, what awaited us at the French border.

My suitcase was packed.

I had my passport in hand.

The tunnel was waiting.

So were the border guards.

I’ve had another full day which I find myself in reflection of.

In many ways England feels very familiar, almost like home.  Everywhere I go the feeling is warm and inviting.

I remind myself, most of my corporate career involved working for two English banks, Barclays Bank and National Westminster plus the countless online art courses I’ve taken with British artists.

This reflection suddenly makes me aware it’s been a while since I thought about home or the move that’s waiting for my attention when I return.

Why did I have to go there!?  I was feeling so peaceful just a moment ago then BAM!  My brain wants me to suffer; I’m having too much fun.

I recognize my mother in that statement, “Laugh too much now and you’ll be crying later”.

I was always bracing for the aftermath of a good time.

Why, I thought.  That statement doesn’t even make sense to me now and yet it popped up as part of my living truth.  Is this meant to quell the joy I was feeling and push me to feel like fun is bad?

Yes, I was hesitant to make this trip and have this experience because there was a part of me that thought I didn’t really deserve it.  I offered resistance when it felt outside of my comfort zone with thoughts about how I’ll be perceived.

It seems ridiculous now that I even had that thought or played with the idea of not taking this trip due to fear.

And here I am, no fear, only joy.

What does that mean?

I feel the move waiting for me.  What will it be like to move across the country and live in another state, especially one I’ve been so resistant to.

Was it just the weather I was saying no to, or was it the fear of leaving something comfortable, something known.

I’d be all alone except for Joe who’d pop in occasionally.

No friends or family around to judge me.  No one to make a face if I’m having too much fun.

Was I afraid of feeling free?

I realized something.

I’m not feeling fear towards the unknown.

I’m feeling fear towards unbecoming the version of me that no longer feels like my truth.

In that moment, I smiled, knowing that it’s really the same thing.

It’s still the unknown, in some way, and just as exciting to test who I am when I’m really on my own.

I’m starting to unwind myself from the idea that there must be a plan.

A plan made me feel safe.

There it is again.

Control snuck in somehow.

In that moment an awareness hits me, this is coming from my head not my body.

Suddenly I think of my mother.  She held a lot of fear.

Wow did that land!  It was her perspective.

The need to plot out where I’m going, when I’m going, how I’m going, which then leaves room for me to not get it right in some way which meant I could miss the mark,

That was always in the back of my mind.

But there’s no such thing.

We had no plan and it was working.

I was having a great time riding the flow of life living in the moment for what came next.

And all the laughs came without crying!

Snapping me out of this deep reflection I hear a voice ask me if I’m hungry.

Of course I am!!

The conversation in the car now turns to our next location, which is the Billesley Manor Hotel, on the outskirts of the town we just left.

My hosts are excited to share it with me.

The first thing I noticed as we approached the hotel was fields upon fields of sheep. It was becoming less surprising and more welcoming.

In some odd way I found them comforting.

Maybe it’s because I love sweaters and sweater weather.  

Silly sheep, something so simple yet satisfying to my heart.

We make a left heading up the road between two fields.  The one on the right is no surprise, sheep fill the pasture.

Then I look to my left and see what appears to be the most perfectly landscaped lawn I’ve ever seen.

And then I see it!

The Billesley Manor Hotel!

It’s magnificent!

It doesn’t look like a hotel; it looks like someone’s estate.  It feels like something out of a movie. I’m intrigued and completely in awe.

As we pull into the parking area, I see there are several stations to charge E cars.  My mind is blown.

It seemed so out of place in this centuries-old hotel, and yet very relevant to today’s new cars.

I look back to the grounds as we head to the entrance in awe of a huge bonsai-looking tree that’s make a true statement against the backdrop of the moody sky.

I touch it.  It feels important in some way.

Maybe it has stories to tell about all it’s seen in its many years in this spot.

I turn toward the manor and am in awe of the number of windows it has.  It’s a very tall and long building, like something out of a fairytale.

I imagine a horse and carriage pulling up to the hotel with the Queen herself.

It felt so fancy to be here.

We walked into the hotel.

It was very palatial but not over the top, with very high ceilings.

The manor has a classic old world Tudor vibe to it.

I thought about what it might have been like to live there.

As we walked through the hotel, I noticed large doorways with each room we walked through; many were arched fitting perfectly with the décor and ambiance.

The ceilings had dark wooden beams running along the ceiling often intersecting with each other throughout the rooms.

It felt very rustic and welcoming making me feel as though the manor was trying to tell me I belonged to her in that moment.

I noticed a stone fireplace in most of the rooms we walked through.

We’d arrived late and didn’t have a reservation for dinner, but they were very kind and accommodating, squeezing us in at the last minute.

We quickly found our rooms and unloaded our luggage. Really not much, we had one suitcase each.  I’ve never traveled this light, but it worked and I learned I don’t need much when traveling.

We had picked a spot to meet so we could head to dinner. It took me forever to find it with all the little nook and cranny staircases, hidden doorways and adjoining hallways running in every direction.

I was amazed at the maze-like intricacy of the manor.  I expected nothing less and, truth be told, I would’ve been excited to stumble on a secret door.

The dining room was very large and opulent with old world paneling on the walls and incredibly high ceilings.  There were people dining from all around the world, evident by the many languages being spoken.

We were seated at a table, handed menus and were talking about what to eat when I looked up to my left at the paintings on the wall.

I almost spit out my Earl Grey!!

Staring at me was a painting of a young Queen Elizabeth blowing a bubble with her bubblegum!!  I was completely taken by surprise.

We all laughed!

Some of the paintings were very colorful, in many ways, wink wink along with traditional oil paintings for that period.

The waiter mentioned some of it was an ode to Shakespeare which wasn’t surprising by now.

We each had our own thoughts about the art agreeing it made the dining experience feel very uplifting instead of dark and foreboding.

We finished dinner which was wonderful and headed to our rooms.

Our rooms were on different floors and as I made my way back to my room, I had the same experience trying to find my way back.

I wondered what the builders were thinking to build a manor in this way, with hidden narrow staircases and hallways.  Was this a thing back then?  Did they enjoy secret rooms and hidden staircases, I wondered.

Once in my room I got myself ready for bed. We had an early start in the morning, and I wanted to be ready and presentable to meet my client who I’d been working with the last few months.

As I was lying in bed my thoughts drifted to the adventure I’d been on the last few days. I don’t remember a time in my life where I’d had an experience like this.

It was an honest to goodness road trip.

I grew up thinking there was only camping.  That was my father’s idea of a vacation.

In a tent.

On the floor.

Yes, we had sleeping bags, but we slept in them on the floor.

The bathroom was usually far away in a remote area that you needed a flashlight to find should you have the need to go in the middle of the night.

It hit me in that moment of reflection, I realized I didn’t know what being adventurous was.

I thought camping equaled adventure.

I need to do this type of adventure more often.

No plan.

No fear.

No car breaking down.

Always a room to be had.

No getting lost.

No one arguing.

Plenty of snacks.

Still feeling in like with each other.

Lots of laughs.

No tears.

What was the difference?

Maybe it was different because this was normal for them.  They mentioned they’d often pack a bag and roam through Europe without much of a plan.

That had to be it!

They felt an ease about not having it all fully planned out, no I’s dotted, no T’s crossed.  Just get on the road and go because they knew it would all work.

This lands deeply!

I always wanted to be that kind of adventurer and now I was.

Suddenly I felt lighter. 

A weight had lifted.  The fear of the unknown that I was facing had vanished.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed ready to start the day feeling an even greater sense of adventure.  My life was about to have some mystery woven in and it suddenly felt ok.

After breakfast we packed up our rooms, loaded the car and decided to walk the grounds before leaving.

We made our way out to the side of the manor.  I noticed the trees and bushes were cut in the shape of chess pieces.

.           

How interesting.

Maybe my feeling of having lived here before in a past life was really about a sense of belonging I was feeling.

We returned to the car ready to go.

It was still moody and overcast and my beloved beautifully ginormous other worldly-looking bonsai-like tree, would stay in my heart forever!

Relaxing back into my seat we were off to the next adventure.

For now, I’m going to take in everything I’ve gained from this one night at the Billesley Manor.

One night.

No tears.

No fear.

Life needs to be lived.

And there it was…

An unexpected shift.

I’m arriving slowly, unpredictably.

Here.

Stonehenge!

And all I could think was, could this bus go any slower?

People were beside the bus on the walking path, along the road to the stones, so of course the driver had to creep along carefully.

I understood that.

I did.

Excitement was building.

And the feeling inside me was big; I felt like screaming “out of my way people, I need to meet the stones”!

I wanted to jump off the damn bus, run to the stones my arms open wide, and hug them!

I wasn’t sure what that meant or what it was about them that made me feel this way.

It was in that very moment I caught myself, realizing that would not happen, not now, probably not ever.

As I looked out the window of the bus I saw it, the obstacle in my way of fully meeting the stones.  A thick thigh-high rope surrounding them keeping me thirty to forty feet back, they looked small like one of those rune sets you buy on Amazon.

I spotted another deterrent, security standing at stations around the area.

I thought “Really?” Ha!

I’d have to settle for ogling them from a distance.

I immediately felt sad thinking I’m finally here, all this way across the pond, hours on a flight then by car only to find out I can’t touch them.

Upon talking to my hosts, it became clear that even if we scheduled a private group tour, which only happens in the early morning or late evening, taking guests out past the rope barrier, one would still not be able to touch the stones.  That was strictly enforced to protect their structural integrity.

Some of the excitement I held fell away, I was feeling a bit let down. I settled back into my seat wondering why I was here if I couldn’t touch them.

I imagined connecting with their energy, their ancient pulse deep within the Earth, holding the knowledge of everything they’d experienced over thousands of years.

But it was not meant to be.

There would be no hugging.

I’d felt robbed in that moment, but I was not going to sulk.  Instead, I needed to focus on this gift because, after all, I am standing here. With the stones.

Surely that must mean something?

I’m lost in my thoughts when suddenly the bus rolls to a stop.

We’re finally here!

We exit the bus a short distance away from the path to the stones and, oh geez, there’s people everywhere, also here to meet the stones. There are so many!

In my mind I’d never imagined I’d have to share this moment with anyone outside of my lovely hosts.

Silly me!

Stonehenge is a national treasure, of course there’d be people.

As we exit the bus the air is cold, the dampness relentless, bringing a chill to my bones and somehow setting the perfect backdrop for this adventure.  Purplish-silver clouds scattered against a beautiful clear blue sky, and although it’s cold with a strong wind at least it’s not raining.  I can bear the biting cold, of course I can, it’s for the sake of being one with these ancient stones I’d longed to see.

I looked around in awe.

The field they sit in is expansive; it makes the stones look small by comparison.  Everywhere I look there’s green, it’s green and lush.

As I gaze upon the stones and imagine them bursting through the ground to claim their position.  In this moment, It feels like they have secrets and stories only they can tell, but don’t yet share.

In each direction I look, there are no trees to block the view. The sky appears to swallow the horizon in every direction; It makes the stones look small. I feel small too.

I start to think about what these ancient stones might have been like, what might they have been used for centuries ago.

My mind seems to be off on an adventure all its own.

The beauty makes me forget how cold it is and I start to turn in a 360-degree circle to take in the view.

I’m caught in the moment. It’s amazing.

Except what is that noise in the distance?  There aren’t houses nearby, only a few trees far off in the very far distance.

I continue to turn; and spot it!  To my disappointment the noise is coming from the motorway running alongside this magical place. I can see the cars; both sides of traffic are flowing as if Stonehenge was just another field in the English countryside.

What is a motorway doing so close to the stones, I wonder?  It seems off.

We are not in Disney my head screams, this is an ancient site, sacred ground I’m exploring.  I want them to speak to me but in this moment, I’m only hearing noise.

These stones had been standing on this land thousands of years, the motorway had not.

I need to breathe and bring myself back to why I’m here.

The motorway gave me the feeling of being at an amusement park.  I was expecting grandeur for these amazing ancient stones, somewhat private with mystery abounding, there was none of that.

Here they sat in the middle of Salisbury Plains with a motorway and noise.  Quite frankly it felt rude to do this to them!

I stood still and closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.  Ahhh.

That did it.  With my eyes closed I reset the scene, I recentered myself, remembering that the aesthetics is not the most important part.  The most important part was what am I feeling when I stand with them on this ancient land.

I’m back!

I open my eyes and look at the stones noticing how they are each uniquely individual. Different shapes, and sizes, where they sat in relation to each other, how they connected or didn’t.

Were they trying to tell a story I was trying too hard to read?

Relax I thought.

Simply be present with them.

Then suddenly I remembered something.

The sign in the info center stated researchers were studying Stonehenge’s possible connection to the moon and its lunar standstill cycle.

I looked back at the stones.

That was it!

I am the moon.

Of course I didn’t need to touch the stones.

I didn’t need buzzing in my body or tingling in my feet.

And I didn’t need some big mystical experience to prove that I had connected with them.

I simply knew and strangely that was enough.

I closed my eyes again and breathed in this newfound awareness.  It was my connection to the stones and the moon, and it was all coming together, suddenly I could see it in the structure of the stones.

In that moment I didn’t need to feel anything, I already had so much more.

A knowing.

Something within me shifted.

It felt exciting and peaceful at the same time.

I closed my eyes and took another breath.  When I opened them I smiled.

And just like that I was ready to leave.

I finally felt one with the stones!

It was simply a moment of knowing that they too, felt the moon.  She was part of them, and they were part of her.

The stones had the view of her I’d been searching for my whole life, laying back in a wide-open field, nothing in the way for as far as the eye could see.

This was my sacred spot now.

A place I will always think about on a full moon.  The one point on the Earth where my soul touches the moon, the stones and the untold ancient mysteries that fill my being.

This is what I came here for.

Standing there, I realized the moon is in her waning crescent phase – a time I had always associated with rest, surrender and the quiet pause before a new cycle begins.

I thought about the move waiting for me back home.

Another new cycle.

Of course.

I smiled.

Maybe I don’t need to know what’s next.

Maybe, for now, I only needed to receive what was already here.

I looked back at the stones.

I felt different.

Not because they had given me something.

But rather because I’d finally stopped asking them to.

The sun was starting to fall making the sky look more magical than it had earlier.

The stones looked different to me.

I smiled.

I’m ready to go.

Walking back to the bus, I stop to take a picture of a crow that flew in to sit on the fence post I was about to pass.

The crow was beautiful, black with deep purple accents throughout its feathers.

Crows seem to always appear at meaningful moments in my life.

Of course there would be a crow.

The bus pulled in to take us back to where the car is parked.

I took one more look at the stones before boarding the bus.

I’d arrived wanting to touch them.  Hug them. Feel something big enough to prove to myself the connection I’d imagined for so many years.

Instead, I stood thirty to forty feet away and received something much quieter.

A deep knowing.

Nothing needed to happen.

Nothing needed to be proven.

I smiled to myself and at the stones one last time.

Receiving.  There it was again.

And in this moment, it felt easier.

Before that could happen, I had to make my way through customs, which was surprisingly easy. After a short walk, there they were! The moment I saw them, the last nine months played through my mind like a movie—everything we had done together, the uncertainty, the trust we had built, and all we had walked through along the way.  And now the moment we had waited for had arrived: we were standing face to face, sharing hugs, laughter, and tears of joy.

After retrieving my luggage, we made our way to the car. I felt excitement building for the incredible adventure that awaited me and my gracious hosts.  As I buckled in, I kept thinking how this was really happening.  I was finally in England, a place I had only dreamt about visiting.

Driving away from the airport, I was in awe. It was November, the day before Thanksgiving in the U.S., and as I looked out the window on the drive to their home, all I could see was lush green everywhere. Back home, everything was already turning brown and drab as the days rolled into winter. The stark contrast made me feel like the faeries were always at work in this magical land far, far away.

As we drove, we talked about the things they still needed to do to complete their day. Upon arriving at their house, I met my client’s teenage daughter who was attending a home-schooling program, her mum as well as two dogs and a cat.

We took my luggage to my room on the second floor. It was beautiful and welcoming; my clients had made some upgrades to make it even more comfortable than I could have imagined. When I first arrived on the second floor, I noticed stairs led to a third floor, where the master suite was located.

To my delight, before leaving me to unpack they opened a door at the back of my bedroom and to my surprise I had my own private bathroom, which was larger than my bedroom!  I had a shower and a free-standing tub unlike any I had ever seen before! It felt like living inside a storybook. When the house was designed, all the bedrooms had their own private bathrooms.

Their house was beautifully designed, and I was happy to have a beautiful space to relax in and unpack my suitcases.  It had been a long day, and I just wanted a minute to sit and decompress after the long flight and car ride to their home.

The room had a very large closet with two doors that had built in compartments for everything.  It was like one of those custom bedroom designer closets.  I loved it, the space made it so easy for me to lay out the clothes I had bought with me.

I finished unpacking and went to the window.  I was looking out into a beautifully manicured backyard with a gazebo.  It was so sweet looking it made me want to paint it.  As I was standing there, I started to realize how far away from home I was.  I had left everything behind, the packing, the money worries, the uncertainty, and the destination I couldn’t see.  It would all be there, waiting for me when I returned home.

That moment felt heavy, like a weight sitting on me.  I sat on the bed and began thinking of how I was losing precious time packing while I was here having the trip of a lifetime with all costs covered, it felt in some ways, like I had won a lottery.  But still there was this unresolved part of my life lingering overhead.

The feeling I was having was the despair I thought I left behind.  I knew I had to shift myself or I’d ruin the next three weeks with thoughts about what I should be doing right now.  I started to think deeply, was that really my truth?  Did I need to go into despair and down the victim rabbit hole having nothing resolved?  I know how this all works.  We’re always exactly where we are meant to be in every moment.

Being here at this time under the pressure I was feeling surrounding the move had great purpose too, didn’t it?  If I was my client asking for help in this situation that’s what I’d say, look for the gift in all of it even when you can’t see it.

Control had followed me all the way to England.

I needed to write, writing always helped me but I left my journal behind, so I pulled some drawing paper out of my book and started to write a gratitude list.  That’s one thing I can always count on to help me shift.

The first thing I wrote was how this trip found me; I hadn’t looked for it.  I wrote how I had needed to open to receiving.  If I could receive an amazing gift such as this, couldn’t I also receive the perfect outcome to my move?  Wouldn’t the breadcrumbs take me to the right place in that situation just as it had brought me here, to my dream trip with these generous and amazing people?  Couldn’t the new living situation be a replica with someone to welcome me that was just as generous and amazing?

I could feel myself shifting, it was working!   The heaviness was lifting. I was feeling better, happy and thankful for the goodness that had come my way.  I was choosing England fully, every experience and put my thoughts about trying to solve my housing situation on hold.  If I didn’t let go, I would miss this amazing adventure completely.  I made the choice to let go and stop dwelling despair of my move and choose England and fun!  I put my mock journal away and got myself together so I could go downstairs and join my hosts.  I was in a place of deep gratitude and looking at all the good in each moment.

Later that evening, we went to collect their son from school, which would be like high school here in the states. He looked very scholarly in his proper school uniform with the school’s crest on the blazer. He was waiting for us at his day house, a place where students can study, socialize, get counsel, or rest between classes. I realized this is how the Harry Potter stories are depicted since the writer is British. The students report to different houses—it’s a real thing in England. Now all of it made sense to me!  When I mentioned it to my hosts and their son, they didn’t think it was remarkable in any way, just another thing in their world while for me it was as if the magic of the books and movies had suddenly come to life.

When we arrived back at the house, we settled in to enjoy a bite to eat, a warming fire, and some good conversation. During our time together, we began discussing the places I wanted to experience while I was there.  The ones in my mind were places like Stonehenge Glastonbury and London.  They stated they would happily take me wherever I wanted to go but I really didn’t know where that was.  Being in England felt a little like coming home in a way and that was enough for me.

Since the rain was not cooperating, we needed to wait a day or two before embarking on our journey. It was during those first few days that I got to know my hosts on a deeply personal level. Each morning, I would wake up to a lovely cup of coffee their mum made for all of us. Some mornings we had porridge, and others we had sourdough bread, jam, cheeses, and an assortment of goodies for breakfast.

It always made me feel happy inside.  I felt like I could just stay in this world and live here in this beautiful land.  I was drinking English tea in… England, I had to sit with that for a moment.  It made me giggle.  So silly perhaps but so important to me in a way I can’t explain.  It felt like coming back to me and some moments felt sad when I thought why wasn’t I born in England?  I’d have an accent.

I must admit it made me stop a few times to consider if there was something else going on here.  Something much deeper at a soul level.

The next afternoon they asked if I wanted to take a ride to stable to watch their daughter ride her horse in the indoor arena. The pair were beautiful together! The barn was rustic and charming, having a very old English feel to it with horses in every stall. I would’ve been happy going there every day.  It brought me back to a time in my life when I was around the same age riding at a local stable, but it was never as picturesque as this.  The stable was nestled in a location that was a bit remote and required us to cross a narrow bridge before pulling onto the grounds to park.

The grounds were green and lush.  It looked as though it would be a perfect setting for any movie where there were horses ridden across a field. I wondered if the riders or even the barn owner appreciated the beauty or if they were so accustomed to it, it went unnoticed.  My hosts seemed to have an appreciation for the beauty as well as the horses which were all magnificent. I never imagined I’d be connecting with horses during my visit to England, yet here I was, surrounded by a stable full of them.

There I stood breathing in the familiar smells of horses that I’ve loved since I was a little girl. I’m thousands of miles from the life I left behind along with the move I put on hold, I was standing in a beautiful old English riding stable- something I had wanted to experience for as long as I could remember.

Here, right in this moment I felt my heart sing with joy.

It was magical, and I had found something familiar.

Horses.

Of course there were horses.