May 2026 – Moth-Style Storytelling at the Library (I ‘workshopped’ a version of these ideas amongst my peer-friends to use as a seed for what follows.)
Journeys are magical things. They somehow contain time, distance, and all sorts of matters of life. They can have big moments, small moments, and moments you don’t fully experience until well after the journey’s end.
It’s 2002. I am at a train station. It’s my freshman year of college at Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and I’m too scared to take a cab to my campus. The cab driver looks scary. So I wait anxiously at the station trying to figure out what to do. I call my parents. They tell me to take the cab. It’s not a big town so eventually the same shady cab driver is my ride choice. I get brave and I get in. Tucked into his visor is the same image and motto I carry with me: “Relax, God’s in charge.” (with a penguin who has been 90% swallowed by a fish and his penguin buddy standing next to him). I feel more at ease. My first ride in a cab is uneventful and within 5 minutes I get out of the cab. I learn that the back of my college campus abuts the train tracks and I can simply walk over a train trestle to get to where I wanted to go.
(It’s the future. I know now that sometimes you have to be brave and face the unknown whether you are prepared to or not. Going face to face with discomfort and uncertainty grows you. I know now that if you look around and explore outside your comfort zone you will discover and uncover things that are hiding in plain sight.)
It’s 2004. I’m at a train station. It’s the start of Winter break and I am heading home from college. Me and a number of Amish families board the train in Lancaster. The weather gets colder and snowier and the train slows down. We get to Altoona and we are going very slowly, perhaps 30 miles per hour. Everything is cold. The conductor informs us that we cannot use the toilets as they have frozen over. The 6-hour train ride lasts 8.5 hours. My parents pick me up at the train station and I am relieved to be home and relieved to have access to a functioning bathroom.
(It’s the future. I know now that circumstances change and you must adjust your expectations to meet the new reality. Sometimes you want something ‘now’ but have to wait and keep going at a snail’s pace to achieve what it is you desire. I know now that nothing is more comforting than family and home (though perhaps I’ve always known that one).)
It’s 2006. I am at a train station getting ready to head to Harrisburg where my former college roommate (and best friend) Sarah picks me up. I am visiting her for a night before I head home from school and she off on a family vacation.
It’s the next day. Sarah drops me off at the nearest taxi stand so I can get to the nearest train station. I tell the cab driver “Middletown Train Station, please.” The cab driver leans to his buddy and laughs, “Get this!”. I am too nervous to ask why he is laughing so I don’t learn until I get there that the “Middletown Train Station” is a small shelter box on the side of the railroad tracks in the middle of nowhere on the edge of a non-town that is empty because it is Sunday morning. Empty except for the town’s one policeman who seems to keep circling main street every 30 minutes keeping an eye on a potential rabble rouser sitting at the train station for hours on end.
I haven’t planned my trip well. My “provisions” include a half of bottle of water and a granola bar to last me my journey home to Pittsburgh. I foolishly thought that I could purchase something at the train station. If I’ve read the faded paper schedule correctly there will be a train at 12:10pm. Me and a handful of ants hang out in the rising sun that gets hotter and hotter. The shelter doesn’t provide any shade. The train comes and I anxiously board and say I don’t have a ticket but ask if I can buy one on the train. The conductor tells me the price and I hand him my money (actual cash). I hurry to an empty seat and I relax. But I don’t relax for too long because all of a sudden my legs are itchy here and then itchy there and I discover that my ant friends have stowed away in my pants. I have literal ants in my pants and I frantically squish them. Having killed all my friends I relax and don’t get up until 4ish hours later when I get to Pittsburgh.
(It’s the future. I know now that if you have a question you should ask it. If you need to change your mind, change it. If you make a mistake you should admit to it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you feel. I know now that good friends are rare and precious things …and that even the best of friends can sometimes unintentionally steer you wrong (like agreeing with you that the rural train station is fine since you insist that it is fine.))
It’s 2010. I am at a train station in the middle of rural Germany. My husband and I are on our honeymoon around Europe and our planned train has been cancelled. We have been re-routed into the beautiful countryside to a place called Ham where we will then have to change trains to get to our destination outside of Salzburg, Austria. We arrive at the place to change trains and it is a small train station. We try to get our bearings, read a posted paper schedule, and find out what to do next. We don’t have time to figure this out though because everyone is shouting at us in German and waving their arms motioning for us to get on to the other train at the station. We hurry aboard just in time and pray that this is the correct train.
We make our way through the car; people are standing everywhere. We try to ask fellow passengers if we are on the correct train. No one speaks English. We keep walking through the train cars looking for two open seats. The trains have an aisle on the left and 6-person rooms with two facing benches on the right. The aisles are full and almost every seat is full. We eventually find a room that has room for us. We sit and try to figure out how we will figure out if we are heading the correct direction.
I am wearing sandals with my college’s logo on them. The man across from us recognizes my school and speaks to me in English. Upon chatting we learn that he is just returning from Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. He tells us that the people who we were asking for help were likely confused because we said we were heading to “Sankt Johann” and there are two of them; one in the direction we are headed and one the opposite way. Luckily for us we are on the train taking us to the correct Sankt Johann – a winter ski town which is in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t get many summer visitors.
It’s the same day. We make it to Sankt Johann im Pongau hours later than we expected. We discover everything is closed because it is a Sunday. Our hotel anxiously checks us in and inquires when we plan on eating. We say we aren’t sure. We just want to go to our room and decompress. A few minutes after checking in someone comes to our room and asks us when we want to eat. As we enjoy a quiet meal in the otherwise empty hotel restaurant we piece it together that they all are waiting on us – we are two of just a handful of guests and everyone else has eaten, and they need to keep the kitchen open until we are done. We finish our meal around 9pm.
(It’s the future. I know now that when life changes your plans you must accept your new reality. You must muddle through life’s decisions without all the information …or perhaps you actually do have all of the information but you don’t understand it because it happens to be in a language you don’t speak. You must muddle and lean on others to help guide you through the mud. I know now that the smallest coincidence at the right time can make all the difference in how you experience your day. A friendly smile, gesture, comment, or literal help can pick you up and put you back on track.)
It’s the next day. I am on a tram to the top of a mountain. I am on a hilltop in the Alps endlessly singing songs from The Sound of Music as my husband and I walk 11 miles back down the mountain and back to our hotel. I visit an antique shop and buy a ceramic stein with a metal lid which I have to figure out how to keep from breaking for the rest of our trip.
(It’s the future. I know now that life sometimes allows you to have the perfect day with someone you love.)
It’s a few days later. We are on a bus to Salzburg, Austria for a flight to Riga, Latvia to meet up with our friends.
It’s the same day. I am on a train. It is a rusty, rickety, semi-open-air Soviet-era train with my husband and 7 of our friends. We are in Riga, Latvia heading to the Baltic Sea where they all brave the cold and swim until our one friend literally turns a shade of purple. I dip my toes in the water and say it counts. We ride a train back to Riga and visit a market where you can buy all sorts of preserved sea creatures, vegetables, and fruit. I purchase one container of raspberries. We walk to a spot in town to eat our meals and enjoy the time together. Every time I eat raspberries from this point forward I am transported to a sunshiney day in a small plaza in Riga, Latvia in the company of good friends.
(It’s the future. I know now that friends will go with you to crazy places and do crazy things with you. I know now that if you choose to not be as crazy as they are it doesn’t matter at all. True friends are happy that you are who you are.)
It’s 2024. I am at a bus stop in downtown Dublin, Ireland waiting with my sister Bridgette, brother Dillon, and a distant cousin Eabha (“Ava”) for the bus to Tipperary. The bus ride takes 3 hours, and we arrive in time to make it to the Kennedy Clan Gathering in Nenagh. Our connection is through our great-grandmother who was the one who left Ireland for America in the early 1900s. It’s midday and I am standing atop a castle that belonged to my ancestors. It’s midafternoon and I am standing on a wall on the farm where my great-grandmother grew up. I enter the house that has stood there since the 1700s. It’s the evening. I am on a restaurant’s patio with family and family-strangers sharing a few Guinness in the day’s final rays of sun.
(It’s the future. I know now that some strangers will take the time to help you. It helps if that stranger is related to you in some way, but people can be kind and generous simply out of a desire to be kind and generous. I know now that a single decision can make a big difference – whether that decision is ‘Cross the ocean and go live in America’ big or ‘Change your plans at the last minute’ small. You do not get to know how an adventure will go, but you do have to be brave enough to start the adventure.)
It’s the same day. I am at a train station in Tipperary, Ireland. I am saying goodbye to my relatives. I board the modern train back to Dublin with my two siblings and cousin. The train ride is one hour long and we sit in seats with our names displayed in digital signs over our heads.
(It’s the future. I know now that family is family no matter what. You may have known them your whole life or just for a day, but there’s just something that connects you (something beyond your genes, something intangible but perhaps just as double-helixy complex). I know now that your selected mode of transportation will always have unique surprises (sometimes in the form of LED lights, sometimes in the form of the people intersecting with you on that particular part of your journey).)
It’s the next day. I am on a tour bus with my Gaelic Football team. We are traveling for a long stretch from Galway, Ireland towards Ballybunion, County Kerry. The bus’s toilet is out of service and I really, really have to go to the bathroom. We finally reach the small town of Lisdoonvarna and almost everything is closed because it is a Wednesday. The restaurant is closed but unlocked and they let me in to use the restroom that should be for paying customers only. They open the restaurant and many of my teammates eat lunch there. But I go to the one other open shop and buy a baguette and pepperoni and sit in the square and eat my makeshift sandwich while writing a post card to my daughter. I take a picture of it then walk to the Post Office which, fortunately, is open. I pay the postage and hand it over. The post card is never seen again.
(It’s the future. I know now that shared experiences can bond you closer to other people. I know now that you should never take amenities for granted. Things don’t always go the way you planned, but you have to make due with what ends up being the reality. I know now that it’s okay to break the rules if it’s for a good reason. I know now that planning ahead can improve your outcomes and planning for potentialities can lessen your disappointments.)
I’m sitting in a chair. I have a computer in front of me and I am reliving past journeys by typing up a few facts about trains, buses, people, and places. I am feeling nostalgic for times and experiences that were often full of feelings I didn’t want to be experiencing in the first place. I am pondering the passage of time and the ‘me’ of those places and times and how I am the ‘me’ I am today because of those journeys big and small.
(It’s the future. I know now that life is full of surprises (some good, some bad, some so insignificant in the moment that you miss knowing that they are there until they are well in the past). I know now that every moment I have is a blessing, that everyone I know, love, and care about are blessings. Every experience is a blessing (whether clear or in disguise). I know now that unanticipated changes to a moment can change your life (some good, some bad, some so significant you can’t help but see the change immediately).)
Journeys are magical things.
Give God Your Yes 