Traveling Alone Part 3

Things I Learned

6. Fear is an emotion I rarely feel.

When I left the abbey on the morning of the fourth day, I was able to name a feeling that I had been having during my time there: fear - not a debilitating anxiety that takes over your body and mind but a low-lying unease that just slightly tremors below the surface. That may be unexpected when I was in the safe confines of a walled retreat house, but I know now that there were a few things that led to my fear: One reason that I felt this fear was how isolated we were at the abbey. In the spaces of the retreat house, this was not quite so obvious, but when I went for a hike on the third day into the backwoods outside the abbey walls, I was struck not just by the immense beauty of the spaciousness but by the vastness of my isolation in that moment, me alone on a dirt path in the middle of a beautiful landscape - but very alone. For the first time in a long time, I distinctly felt fear. I felt fear of other people that I may cross paths with, and I felt fear of wildlife that I might encounter. At one point, I looked down at the rusty soil of the path at my feet and noticed a large paw print. Immediately my brain started to wonder: Do locals bring their dogs out here to walk? Are there locals around here? If it’s not a dog, what could it be? Are there cougars in Kentucky? (After some research, the answer is yes.) What about bears? (Another yes) What would I do if I met a wild animal? Ultimately, I realize now that it was fear of the unknown - which is so often the root of all fears - but it was also fear from being alone. Aloneness makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability is scary.

Part of the vulnerability of this retreat was also our lack of internet connection, something I’ve been wanting to try to escape more…but maybe not when I was in the middle of rural Kentucky. (More on that later!)

Another reason that I may have felt this anxiety was that I did feel vulnerable in my female skin. Of course, there was vulnerability in my aloneness and not being able to connect with people, but also in who I was sharing space with. For the first time ever, I was on retreat with men. Now mind you, these were men who were there seeking spiritual renewal and each had their own story, but nevertheless, I realize that their mere presence created a unique sense of discomfort that was unfamiliar to me. While it might ring the anti-feminist alarms, I realized the vulnerability of being a woman in a way I have never (thank goodness) really experienced before. In other words, I have the great privilege of never feeling unsafe in my female body; I have the privilege of living a life where I do not feel the need to be on high alert all the time because I feel secure in most spaces that I inhabit - even as woman In reflecting back on my experience on this retreat, my aloneness and my isolation and my femaleness created a unique blend that created a sense of unease that is unusual for me.

7. There is a distinct difference between masculine energy and feminine energy in a space.

To build on my awareness of my femaleness, I came to realize in reflection that I am not often in a space that is mostly masculine energy.

In studying the sacred feminine and recognizing the sacred masculine as its counter, I have become more aware of how to read engendered energy. As mentioned earlier, the retreat house welcomed both men and women while I was there, and the majority of the retreatants were men. In the midst of the silence, it was actually the men who made an effort to make eye contact and smile or nod or whisper “Good morning” or “Hello.” One retreatant approached me in the Welcome Center (a public space where talking is allowed) to ask about my shirt, a souvenir from a 5k I had walked in St. Louis earlier in the month to support those affected by the tornadoes that devastated parts of the city. It turned out that he was from St. Louis, a chaplain at a couple of the Catholic high schools that St. Louis is famous for. Another man introduced himself to me as Laurence on the first night while we were both in the reception area (another talking space) and would always smile and nod when we saw each other along the way.

Obviously, none of the men who I shared space with seemed threatening. Most of them were older and all seemed perfectly content to focus their attention inward, yet the mere presence of men in a space that - from my retreat experience - is usually all women, was surprisingly unsettling for me.

I also recognize that the energy of the abbey, a sacred space inhabited by monks for more than a century, tends to be more masculine. It’s hard to describe exactly what that means but I can compare it to my favorite retreat house, Mercy Conference and Retreat Center in Frontenac, Missouri, a sacred space that is home to retired nuns and where most employees are women. The space at Mercy, even when we have shared it with men who are on their own separate retreats in the house, is warm and comfortable and spacious and relaxed. Even when I have been startled by something unusual at Mercy, I have never really felt fearful or vulnerable, and I wonder if it is because of the feminine energy of the place.

8. I really appreciate the ability to connect via the internet.

I spend weeks with my Exploring Communication students talking about the impact of technology on our ability to communicate, and I challenge them to give up their devices for 24 hours (most will not or cannot do it, but those who do are changed). True confession: In all the years that I have posed this challenge to my students, I have never actually taken it. Why? As a parent, I want to be available to my kids all the time, and I worry that they won’t be able to contact me if something should happen - good, bad or ugly. That’s always my reason (or is it an excuse because giving up the conveniences of technology is super uncomfortable?) I definitely learned about that discomfort during this retreat. One thing that I did not know going into this experience is that my WiFi would be limited to one room in the retreat house (the library) and the top of a knob across the highway from the house. That definitely took some getting used to: I had to wean myself from reaching for my phone every time I had a thought to jot down or a question to ask Google or a message to send someone. I carried my phone for the camera only, as a way to capture the images that were spread out before me on the trip - images that I would certainly share later, when I had access to the internet. I planned out my trips to the library so that I could at least check messages a few times a day. (When I told my son about the limited WiFi, he asked me if I spent a lot of time in the library!)

After a day or two, I was more comfortable sitting for hours on end without checking my phone; I got a little more used to being off the grid; I accepted the limitations (and freedoms) that come from not having easy access to the technology that we have grown so accustomed to using every waking minute.

That being said, absence does make the heart grow fonder, and I do appreciate easy connections more than I did before. Surprisingly, I am also less inclined to use my phone as my first line of defense against boredom now. Instead, I can sit in silence and listen to myself more easily than ever before.

9. People pay WAY more attention to what my shirts say than I ever realized before.

When packing for this trip, I took a variety of comfortable clothes, from joggers to leggings and capris, a long sleeve dri-fit from a 5k, a sweatshirt with the a verse from Esther emblazoned across the front, a shirt from a visit to friends in Keuka Park, NY, a t-shirt from the recent 5k I walked to raise funds for those affected by the St. Louis tornado, and a raglan from the Honor Flight I took with my dad a few years ago.

Within a few hours, I realized that the clothes really do make the person, especially when those clothes have words on them and we are not speaking! First of all, my New Harmony friend Alex noticed my dri-fit 5k shirt when I stopped in New Harmony and was quick to tell me about the upcoming Firefly 5k that is happening during Firefly Festival. (We were already registered for it!)

Then, Fr. Sean connected to my St. Louis 5k t-shirt because he recognized the fleur de lis as the city’s symbol. It is what drew him to ask me if I was from St. Louis and to share his own story in the Abbey’s Welcome Center.

Although we were supposed to be quiet during meals, the day that I wore my Keuka Park shirt, a gentleman tapped me on the shoulder while I was in line to get my dinner. He whispered, “Are you from there?” gesturing at the Keuka Park logo on my chest. I quietly explained that I was not, but we have dear friends who live there and we visit them. Then I whispered, “Are you from there?” and he told me that he was from the area. “Beautiful part of the country,” I said before we parted ways for our silent meals.

On the day that I was leaving the abbey, the brother who helped me with my check-out noticed my Honor Flight shirt and asked me about it. Later that day, as I was leaving Mammoth Cave, I overheard some gentlemen behind me talking about my shirt, and when I turned around, they asked if I was a veteran. I quickly told them that I was not but that my dad was and that I had the privilege of accompanying him on an Honor Flight a few years before. One of them asked of my dad’s service, “World War II?” and I tried to hide my surprise (and a little insult that he would think I’m old enough to be the daughter of a WWII vet!) when I responded, “No, Vietnam.” Both of the men adamantly asked me to share their thanks with my dad for his service, which I did when I called my parents on the drive home.

I brought my Esther hoodie (emblazoned with the verse “Perhaps you were made for such a time as this”) with me because I expected Mammoth Cave to be cool (55 degrees year round!), so I donned it before climbing into the depths of the cave. On my way out of the cave, as I climbed the steep steps to the surface, I passed a teenage boy waiting for his grandmother behind me, and he read my shirt and smiled at me: “I really like your sweatshirt.” I smiled in return and thanked him.

Packing my bag the morning of my departure, I never expected people to notice me or my clothes or what they said. I packed things that were comfortable for the places I would be visiting, but from now on I will choose my clothes and the words they express more thoughtfully because people see me in ways I wouldn’t have expected based on what I’m wearing - not the style or the size but the literal message I’m projecting on my body.

10. People assume that I must be with someone else.

Perhaps I should have had a shirt made that said, “Yes - I AM alone.”

While the decision to travel alone was significant to me, I didn’t consider that other people might find it significant, but I may have been wrong about that. I suppose that most of the time when women travel, they do travel with someone else - a spouse or family or friends or colleagues. While my husband travels on his own for work and to race, I don’t think people ever seem surprised at him - a man - traveling alone, but it seemed to startle some people that I was alone.

The first person to notice was Alex, my coffee shop friend, but his response was encouragement and to be proud of me for taking the time for myself. That is true form for Alex, always the encourager.

The second person to seem a little taken aback by my singleness was the woman working the guard station at Bernheim Forest. “Are you the only one today?” she asked haltingly, not wanting to offend but still surprised. “Yep,” I answered with a chuckle as I grabbed the map she handed through my window.

Of course, no one at the abbey was shocked by my aloneness because almost everyone who goes on retreat there is alone - that is kind of the point, but as soon as I left the abbey I encountered a number of people who seemed bewildered at a woman traveling solo: My first experience was even before I entered the Welcome Center at Mammoth Cave. A family was taking a photo, and the mom gathered everyone around for the picture, but she was going to take it and be left out. I hate to see this, so I stepped up and offered to take a photo of everyone, including Mom. She gratefully accepted my offer, and I snapped a few pictures. As I was doing this, another gentleman came up behind me and offered for me to get in the shot, but I quickly explained that I wasn’t with the group. He looked at me, confused, “You’re not with them? Are you alone?” I just smiled and nodded before handing the phone back to the mom and walking away, leaving the gentleman a bit confused. This same story would repeat itself almost every time I offered to take a picture of a couple or a family, and multiple times that day I had to explain that I wasn’t with a group: I was by myself. Each time people seemed a little unsure of what to do with that information.

The exception to that was Danny, a Santa Claus look-alike who I met on the hike up from the Green River. After a self-guided tour through Mammoth Cave - a UNESCO World Heritage site and the longest cave in the world - I decided to hike down the incline to the river. As I was making my way down this incline, I thought to myself, “What goes down must come up - whew, that hike up may be a doozy!” And it was. I pushed through the burning in my calves and the shortness of breath, but when I saw this white bearded older gentleman taking a break along the trail, I stopped too. We began chatting, and he shared with me that he and his wife had planned to visit all of the national parks, but a few years before she “went to the National Park in the Sky” so he decided to honor her memory by finishing the tour on his own. As we made our way back up to the cave, Danny shared stories of his wife and their visits to the parks and told me more about his travels. When I mentioned to him that this was my first official visit, he did ask if I was on my own, and when I told him that I was, he simply said, “That’s nice” without any surprise or question. Meeting Danny and sharing a moment on that trail was a lovely way to return to humanity.