My
trip to Norway was a group bus tour, my first.
I worried whether anyone would like me.
During the first two days I was sure I was disliked. I felt awkward picking a spot to eat with the
others and I worried whether I talked too much or too little. I felt odd sitting alone on the bus. I couldn’t remember names.
I should have honed my intuition. I should have seen that they were being respectful and careful. Some felt a bit isolated and some wanted to be left alone. One couple acted like they were on a honeymoon and for another, it was their first trip out of the USA.
Bonding happened slowly. I asked people to go for walks and I was rejected. I tried to respond to openings. I treaded carefully and only acted wacky when I could no longer avoid it. I tempered my outrageousness. By midweek I found friends. Close and brief friends. Smart friends and bewildered friends. Friends who ate platefuls of fish for breakfast and sat in the hold of the ferry instead of out in the breeze.
After
our farewell dinner I had to leave for a 3:15 wake-up call. I went around the big table and touched each
person. Several hugged me. Some looked tearful. I felt warmth from all of them and a deep
sadness mixed with happiness at our time together.
Oh
me oh my. I rush too much. I expect too much. Disappointment in others can flood me. But I get surprised. In Norway, I was surprised with love.
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