I lost myself on a train in Germany once. I was six months pregnant with Cora Jo and determined to see my sister in Hannover. I flew into Europe alone. We had concocted a rendezvous on a train on the way to the airport to fly from Germany to England. I knew a little German—enough to make people think I understood them. I mostly nodded and smiled and cocked my head with the inflection and guttural gusts. I found the train and dropped my suitcase and fell into a window seat. A pleasant man sat next to me and struck up a conversation. He asked me what I was doing in the next town. I told him I was not going to the next town, but on to the airport in Berlin. His face showed concern and he began gesturing to the signs above the seats. I could not grasp his meaning, but it seemed he was saying I was on the wrong train. Fear gripped me. What if I misread the signs? He explained it all again and again, and I kept pointing to my ticket. I have a reservation, I told him. I am here. I am in the right place. He was so concerned for me though, and as the train neared the next station, I saw that every other person on the car was readying to disembark. He smiled apologetically and patted my hand and pointed to the door.

I nodded. Would they make me get off? I was alone in Germany. There were no cell phones. I had no way to reach anyone. I collected my suitcase and my pregnant belly and moved to a transition car where passengers were standing for quick access to the doors. I thought that my sister and parents were getting on this train. I clutched my ticket and tried not to cry. What if I had completely missed it? At twenty-nine, I suddenly felt twelve. I need supervision! I thought desperately. Who let me think this was a good idea!?!

I still feel like that when we move or make life changes. I second guess myself, wring my hands, and twitch with stress. In the end, I still just fling myself on the train and beg for mercy.

Nine years ago, I stood in the transition car for several worrisome minutes until the train left the station. Once I was sure no one would kick me off the train, I was able to ask someone about my ticket, and the location of the seat I had reserved. As the porter ushered me back into the right car, I saw my sister and parents waiting. All the hand-wringing and twitching dissolved and I collapsed into the right place.