Day 9 of 10 of a recent family trip to the UK was spent entirely on transportation transitions as we made our way from Edinburgh to London.
That morning, we caught a taxi from our Edinburgh Airbnb to the Waverley Train Station. We were running late, and our driver - picking up on the anxious energy - said in an Indian accent, “Here. I’ll cheat.”
(Photo by Eric Veiga on Unsplash)
At which point he pulled out from behind a line of motionless cars stuck at a long red light, and he swerved into the empty bus lane. He drove for about 30 seconds in that lane, and honestly, it was the only reason we made the train.
Once on-board, we settled into the sold-out train for the four hour ride to London, only to receive the following news forty-five minutes into the ride:
“This train will be stopping shortly at the Newcastle station, and it will not be going through from there. We do not have a crew who can take this train the whole way.”
(Photo by Rene Böhmer on Unsplash)
I have no idea why or how this happened, but the locals rolled their eyes in a way that made it seem like this was not entirely abnormal.
The announcement went on to explain that other trains would be coming through Newcastle, and that all of us would be free to get on any of them. Also, we would be refunded the entire amount of journey.
That was certainly a nice savings, but practically what they were saying was this:
All trains are now free.
All rules are now nil.
Seat reservations mean nothing.
First Class and Coach are no longer distinctions.
There will now be a whole lot of you vying for very few seats.
Good luck. Cheers.
It was about as Lord of the Flies as you might imagine.
Old, young, and everybody in-between pushed and prodded out of the train. My family was hardly above the survival-of-the-fittest mentality, but being a family of four complete with….
a stroller,
three tourist-size pieces of luggage,
and two of us under the age of 8…
…well, call us the dodo bird of transit transitions. We were doomed from the get-go.
In fact, we might as well have slept the night on the Newcastle train platform had it not been for a woman who saw us trudging in all our dodo-ness, and said in a Scottish accent, “Can I carry this?”
She pointed to our heaviest bag as it was the one not settled over my shoulder (the folded stroller) or on my back (the backpack) or in my arms (the two-year-old now tired of trudging).
(Photo by Tommaso Pecchioli on Unsplash)
“No, no. I got it.” It was an instinctive response. I was loathe to admit my need for help.
“You sure?” She knew our situation was untenable.
“Ummm…you know what Ok.” I relented.
And honestly, she was the only reason we got onto a second train.
The woman herself ended up on the same train, and later I realized she was among the many folks who stood the entire 3-hour ride to London. However, I was never able to get close enough to offer a genuine word of thanks for the fact that she had gotten our fifty-pound bag onto the train.
Once on the train, we had to split up - Leo with Michelle, Logan with me.
I was a few rows behind them, and I could see that Michelle and Leo were interacting with a couple and their two young children. Even without hearing any of the conversation, the broad smiles, laughter, and kind nods made clear what was unfolding:
Enjoyment.
Connection.
The gift of time moving effortlessly even amid a train packed with far too many people-and-bags.
(Photo by Humphrey Muleba on Unsplash)
Three hours later, we arrived to London where we took the following over the course of two more hours of transition travel:
(taken in the following order)
Lift (elevator)
Subway Train
Lift
Escalator x 2
Subway Train
Lift
Moving Walkway x 2
Bus
Lift
I arrived to our hotel room exhausted and frustrated.
We are in the UK! And we just spent an entire day dedicated to transportation transitions!
(Photo by Josh Wilburne on Unsplash)
It felt like a profound waste.
And then I remembered something…
That particular morning I had woken up extra early and done a guided meditation where I had been invited to name an intention for the day. I chose attentiveness.
May I be attentive to the gift of each moment regardless how mundane, frustrating or unplanned.1
Of course, I promptly forgot my intention and then spent the rest of the day as I just recounted - consumed by getting through each inconvenient transition until, finally, I was a ball of tired frustration.
But in the waning evening moments I finally looked upon the day with attentiveness.
And do you know what I saw?
A driver who broke with city code - for us.
A woman who gave all of her strength and received paltry thanks - for us.
A family who laughed - with us.
Which is to say, even just a slice of attention helped me see that on a journey of constant transitions, all of the most important, most pivotal, and most beautiful moments were entirely unplanned - and sublimely human.
—
The truth is, Life is one constant flow of transitions.
Some seasons feel like it’s just One, Big ‘Day-9-of-10’ Transition.
Other seasons don’t feel so significant, and yet transitions of every sort are very much underway.
Either way, transitions are rarely easy, convenient, or without unexpected delays, detours, and notable exhaustion.
It’s natural, then, to spend our days-in-transition simply looking to get past the latest leg of the journey - all the while winding ourselves into a ball of frustration as our particular train keeps getting slowed or even stuck altogether.
But… There is another, equally-certain truth about transitions; namely, grace.
People show up for us in ways we could never have anticipated or even planned for. They just do, and at just the right time. It’s near-inexplicable, but it’s every bit as certain as the delays.
What’s our job then?
Keep moving. Take the next available mode of transportation.
It may be a long-ride via taxi, train, or subway.
Or it may be a quick lift, escalator, or walkway.
Doesn’t matter.
We take the limited view that we have of the next part of our journey, and we trust that the grace of a…
taxi driver or
middle-aged woman or
young family or…
…will show up with us. Even for us.
(Seen any surprising forms of grace amid recent transitions? Been such grace for another?)
This, I think, is what is meant by a life of faith.2
And in this kind of life, know that sometimes -
right in the middle of all the various
transitions,
frustrations,
and unknowns
- you’ll be given a bountiful, three-hour abundance of laughter, connection, and kindness that you never saw coming. Call it an Amazing (amount of) Grace.
And those moments will make the transition itself a kind of wondrous destination.
(Photo by Jonathan Pendleton on Unsplash)
After all, “attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” - Simone Weil
I’ve long been struck by the fact that the Bible declares “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” The promise is that God gives enough light for us to make it unto the next taxi, but certainly there is nothing in Scripture that suggests the kind of light that illumines every last step of the way. As a friend of mine likes to say, “God’s Light is a lamp for our feet, not a tractor beam unto the whole journey.”
Brilliant, my friend. And much needed reminders. A friend gave me this counsel recently: sometimes the best path is the one that opens up before you not the one you create for yourself (plans and expectations)
A great analysis of your situation and how it evolved! Though, I think the smart thing would have been rent a car and drive down. That's what I did 30 years ago making a couple of over night stops along the way.