Trials & Tribulations

When I was 20 years old, I traveled through Europe with a choir. At the end of our tour, I ventured off on my own, traveling by train from Zurich, Switzerland, to Glasgow, Scotland. On the trip with the choir, I had fallen head over heals in love with a tall, dark, and handsome baritone. We fell in love in Prague, sitting by the Vltava River, beneath the Charles Bridge and the castle. It was something right out of a fairy tale.

In Budapest, he broke my heart – admitted to having a girlfriend back home – said he couldn’t hurt her and had to end it. The entire “affair” – if you can even call it that – lasted only three days.

A few days later, when I boarded the first of many trains, my spirits were low. I was supposed to be off on my first independent adventure. This was supposed to be something like the “time of my life.” It didn’t feel like it would be.

In Brussels, I got off at the wrong stop and got an hour behind schedule. Crossing the English Channel on a ferry boat, I got terribly seasick while watching Basic Instinct. Then, on the train from Dover to London, I fell asleep. Finally. I had been traveling non-stop all day, but I had not yet slept.

When I woke up in London and tried to find my connecting train, I found myself very confused. The trains were all in the wrong place. Nothing was arriving or departing when it should have. Here I finally was in an English speaking country, and I couldn’t understand what was going on.

Soon I realized that I had forgotten to turn my watch back – or ahead – I forget which. But even adjusting for that, things still seemed off. What I hadn’t realized was that, the train from Dover to London had broken down for an hour or so. I didn’t realize it because I was asleep. When all the pieces finally fell into place, I realized that I had missed the last train from London to Glasgow. I would not get my sleeping carriage for the overnight ride to Scotland. I would not meet my friends at the train station bright and early the next morning, just in time for tea and a scone.

What you must realize at this point is that this was 1991. Cell phones were something only spies carried. In fact, it never even crossed my mind, “gosh, I wish I had a cell phone.” It was a pipe dream – like teleportation or electric cars.

So I had no cell phone. I also had no English pounds. All I had were Swiss Francs, which were no good in London. I would have tried to trade them with the other tourists on the train, but by the time I realized my plight, there was no one around. The train station was empty. Even the surly man behind the glass – the one who told me in no uncertain terms that I had missed the last train to Glasgow and that I would have to get to Victoria Station (wherever that was) by 6:00 a.m. if I wanted to catch the next one – even he had pulled his curtain and closed up for the night.

I was starting to get upset (who -- me?!). I hadn’t eaten since breakfast (I had tried to eat on the ferry across the channel, but either the movie or the rocking of the boat had made it impossible). I had no idea how to get to Victoria Station. And even if I knew how to get there, I had no money to pay for the trip. Even the bathrooms were locked up for the night (something I wished that I had realized before finishing off my big bottle of Evian).

As I began to give up hope, I noticed a sign for the subway. I didn’t know what I expected to find down that set of stairs, but it was a glimmer of hope.

I had only made it half way down the stairs when I heard a loud clanking noise. I looked up to find a small man shutting the heavy iron gates to the subway entrance.

“Is the subway closed for the night?” I asked the little man.

“Yes, it is, missy,” he answered in a cockney dialect straight out of My Fair Lady.

“Oh,” I said, and I turned to go back up the stairs. Where I was headed I had no idea.

“Is anything wrong, missy?” said the little man.

I turned to tell the man not to worry, I would be fine. But what I said instead, through a veil of tears, was “everything is wrong!” I’m not sure exactly what I said next, but I think it probably included all that I had been through that day – maybe even over the course of the last week – including my recent heart break, my dislike for the movie Basic Instinct, and my increasing need to pee.

The little man patiently listened to what must have sounded like sheer madness. And then he said the following words:

“Missy. It’s alright missy. These are the trials and tribulations of life. Nothing is insurmountable.”

He then asked me where I needed to go, took me upstairs and outside to the bus stop, counted out the right number of coins into my hand, and before I could even offer him the rest of my Swiss Francs, he was gone.

I have always loved retelling this story. It gets a laugh at parties or over the dinner table. Poor little Joanna, tired, hungry, and broken hearted, all alone in a London train station, rescued by a strange little man with enormous wisdom and generosity.

But that might have been the very first time anyone had ever said something like that to me. That nothing was insurmountable. That we get over things, we move on. In that moment, I did not realize the truth in his words. Even in the many retellings of that story, the truth of it escaped me. But I have begun to realize it gradually, over the years, through the many trials and tribulations that were to come. I realize it a little every time I decide not to be a victim. I realize it a little every time I decide not to let my past determine my future. I realize it a little more, bit by bit, every time I stoop down to drop off a piece of baggage that I have decided not to carry with me through life anymore. And I realize it a little every time I refuse to accept what isn’t good enough – from myself, or from others. I guess you could say that, with each step I take closer to becoming who I really am, I realize it just a little more.

These – these are just the trials and tribulations of life. Nothing is insurmountable.