When this publishes, I’ll be on a train to New York, but as I write, my trip is a little less than two weeks away.

But the way I feel today is exactly what set me on the path towards this trip in the first place. In hopes that things are different when I come back, I wanted to save the feels from today, the ones I would like to be able to approach with a little more aplomb and a little less rigidity.

I’m feeling stuck.

There are a lot of areas where this is true. Spiritually, I’ve been wrestling with a concept. I’ve read what the scripture says about it. I’ve done that more than once, and I’ll keep reading and praying over it. I’ve been taught the passages are symbolic, and I’m being asked to consider them literally. The reluctance I feel at doing this is a physical turning aside.

I’ve been struggling with parenting. For all the incredible forward progress the Chaplain and I were able to achieve over the past months, my parenting has not enjoyed the same improvement. For one, my kids aren’t doing the hard work, so I’d be the only one in the equation struggling for change, at least at the beginning.

Now, though, compared to my marriage, my relationship to my parenting looks a bit shabby and in need of a tune-up. This is especially true as our kids become teenagers and require a finer touch.

At the same time, we are still overrun with Littles, and being the trenches seems like a good justification for a duck-and-cover approach.

Emotionally, I’m feeling stuck. I’ve been trying to figure how to live fully, learning what it means to be a grown up, what it means to be me, in my own skin. But I feel like I’ve hit a wall that I can’t seem to get over or go around.

Some people go backpacking in Europe in their early twenties, to find themselves. Some of us do it at the ripe old age of 38, leaving behind a pack of children, a supportive spouse, and we do it in 6 days rather than 6 weeks because that’s how much time we have. And we cover one country rather than the entire continent.

The trip will be a lot of things. I’ve wanted to go to the Netherlands since I had a two-hour layover there on the way to Romania as a teenager. I’ll never forget the plane coming down to land and the green, sliced into a watery grid, tiny buildings and animals; so much water.

I understood our layover was too short for exploring. I still stood longingly at a big window in the airport, wishing I could have more than a stamp on my passport and some cute postcards from an airport gift shop to show for myself.

This time, when I get to the airport, I’ll be finding the train and taking it to Amsterdam. I get a little over 24 hours there before a taxi will take me and a group of other women to a retreat in the countryside for the weekend. I’ll be sharing a room with a stranger, someone who could either become a dear friend, or drive me up the wall with talking, snoring, or fragrances. Maybe it will be me annoying her.

There will be time for reading, reflection, and prayer.

After the weekend is over, I’ll have an afternoon back in Amsterdam, then my plane leaves for home the next morning.

I’m responsible for my own navigation and activities for six days. If I don’t sleep on my red-eye, I will be to blame, or perhaps someone else’s crying child (and if that’s the case, I pray I can be gracious, since I know what that’s like). If I miss a train, get lost, or don’t see something I wanted to see, it will be the fault of my own time management.

The Chaplain and I are both hopeful that I can get unstuck. If I don’t find what I’m looking for, I think having been able to take a solo trip to Europe should be its own prize. Only time will tell.

Some of my travel supplies, including colorful homemade hankies for damp November weather, and also because I’m pretty sure I’ll cry at least once. Maybe when I say goodbye to my family. Maybe while viewing the Dutch masters. Maybe while spending a weekend with a bunch of ladies from all over the world. Maybe when it’s time to leave. By my count, that’s four hankies.