Two New Chapters
No One Goes to Dublin for Work
July 31, 2025
On the ground at JFK waiting to take off for Ireland
I was greeted by the captain in the boarding area—a tall, older gentleman with a big smile. For the first time in decades, I’m flying overseas without John. I was already so nervous. I would have preferred a more serious captain.
“Are you going to Dublin for vacation?” he asked.
“No. For work,” I said.
He laughed at me, shaking his head. “No one goes to Dublin for work!”
“I love my work,” I replied defensively. He smiled once more, then boarded, leaving me staring at the jet bridge. My sister’s words echoed in my head: “What are you thinking? You can’t travel through Europe with these two couples. Really, they’re strangers!”
Have I made a mistake? I feel like I know the Murrays well after traveling with them for weeks on the Queen Anne. But the couple from Germany I met on Queen Mary—it was two meals a day for seven days with people who speak a different language. What was I thinking indeed! Well, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking that these people seem very nice, they seem interested in my journeys with my packets, and they seem keen on taking me to the ministers of education in their country. As I type these words, I’m embarrassed. I’ve typed “seem” way too many times. Travel with strangers and strange things can happen. I don’t know if I heard that on a television show or my mind just made that up, but it’s creepy and it’s creeping me out.
Maybe I should just get off the plane in Dublin and take the next flight back to New York. But so many plans have been made, and the couples are expecting me to show up. Most important of all: I have Overcoming Obstacles information to deliver to thirty ministers of education.
Driving through six European countries over seven weeks with a couple from Australia and then a couple from Germany. Jane’s voice in my head again: You just met these people!
I’m putting my computer into my bag for takeoff, praying for a good flight tonight. I hate flying. I always have. And now I’m flying to strange lands and traveling with strangers.
Travel with strangers and strange things can happen.
God, I hope not.
Rough Air
July 31, 2025
Somewhere over the Atlantic approaching Dublin
After meal service, the cabin lights dimmed and all the window shades came down. I was feeling claustrophobic, but I managed to fall asleep. And then the plane started to shake. I heard the “ding,” the seatbelt light came on, and then a familiar voice came through the sound system. It was our captain. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We’re experiencing some rough air. For your safety, please make certain your seatbelt is fastened.”
“Rough air.” Rough air?! The plane was shaking violently. Anything not secured rattled. And the fuselage creaked. Rough air, to me, would have been a few bumps. This was turbulence. What made it worse was that just as my fellow passengers and I would finally fall asleep, the ding would sound again and the captain would tell us to fasten our seatbelts. By the third time this ritual came around, he said something like, “We’re going to try a different altitude and see if we can find some smoother air.” We never did.
John and I traveled together for decades, and I always hated flying. Whenever turbulence hit, I would reach for his hand. When his hand closed around mine, the fear passed. His calm made me believe everything would be all right. But now I was flying alone.
I had just begun to drift off again when the chime sounded and my boarding gate friend the captain said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts . . . “ More rattling and creaking and shaking. After a few minutes the motion eased and the cabin relaxed again.
Then, twenty minutes later, the chime returned. Another announcement. Another round of shaking. This circular flying nightmare continued for hours.
I’ve spent so much of my life helping people overcome obstacles, teaching them to find hope inside difficulty. Yet there I was, gripping my own hand, trying to trick my mind into believing I was holding John’s instead. And then I remembered the words I would say for strength on the world journey. The words I learned from the Māori people in New Zealand: Ake Ake Ake.Forever and ever and ever.
I loosened my grip on the armrest and let myself breathe.
Now we’re being told to prepare for landing.
You can rename turbulence if you want. Call it rough air. But the plane still shakes. The heart still races. And sometimes, in the middle of it all, love reminds you that you are never entirely alone.