Being Carried

This week, I checked off a bucket-list item: I walked from my front door to the Freiburg Münster, 48 km. Well, I walked 44 of it because I developed a pain in my left foot, so when I reached the outskirts of the city, I jumped on a bus for the last 4 km. Oh well. Almost. 🙂

It brought to mind one of my favorite memories from my second Camino pilgrimage across northern Spain. On the Camino Frances, just past Carrion de los Condes, is one of the longest stretches without a town or water. It’s only 17 km, so not impossible, but people were actively planning for it the night before with extra purchases and strategies. That’s when my friend, Rachel, saw a poster for a horse-drawn carriage option. With pleading eyes she begged me to check into it before crashing for her daily nap. I called the number on the poster and in broken Spanish was able to find out that he needed a minimum of 8 pilgrims to make it worth it and what the cost would be. Where I kept faltering was in the directions for our meeting spot at 6 am. I understood “después el rio …” (after the river …), and then everything else he said was lost in a jumble of words unfamiliar to me. After I made him repeat it four times, I decided that we would wing it. The whole thing ended up being a delightful adventure as Rachel and I laughed our way across the 17 km light-footed and guilt-free with 6 new best friends. This was the way we met Carla, who became an integral member of our Camino family for the rest of that hike. I’ve even visited her in the Netherlands since then. A printed selfie of this leg of the journey still hangs in my apartment as a reminder of the good stories God weaves even when we can’t quite walk anymore.

Not every walk has to be “walked.” Sometimes I have to let myself be carried - by buses and horse carts and friends and Jesus. Sometimes the pain means needing to push pause on bucket lists, and that’s okay too. 44 km was still an adventure and held beauty that was impossible to fully capture.

Passionate Contentment

Passion and Contentment. The wise Polly Wilson, with whom I’ve gotten to spend the last couple of years in Life Group studying Scripture together, put those two words in tension with each other last week. She stated that as her contentment in the Lord has grown, she’s seen her passion diminish. And I haven’t been able to shake that idea.

The passion of being a young believer was so all consuming. I remember it, and in reflecting on it, instantly I could picture almost all of our students. The dreams that they’re holding are glorious, and I count it a privilege to get to fan those flames as I pray with them and seek God’s guidance for how to make their passions a reality. They want to be forces for good, to bring justice to a hurting world, to advocate for the marginalized. Isn’t that beautiful? In matters of faith, I regularly find myself asking the Lord that he would move them out of apathy and give them an even deeper passion for Jesus that will mark the rest of their lives. 

But just as equally, I pray for contentment. I desire for their work to be so meaningful it leaves them with a sense of purpose and accomplishment, for who wants to feel that their efforts were a waste of time? I ask that in the end, Jesus would be the only thing that actually satisfies at a deeper level, and that they would cling to him so tightly so that their need of him is normalized, their joy in him automatic, their contentment through him guaranteed. 

So back to Polly’s statement - does growth of the latter shrink the former? If I’m honest, I think contentment over passion describes my life. As I have walked this faith road with my Savior, I’ve become more confident in my identity of being his wanted daughter, more comfortable in my relationship that looks like a never-ending conversation, more content with whatever comes my way. And I don’t think I’m being hyperbolic; I really think it’s true. But the 15-year-old Katrina whose new-found passion had caused her to share Jesus with her classmates and led her to dream of reaching kids around the world with the gospel, she might be surprised at the ease with which I now accept what is over what could be. Is this the road of every adult? Of every believer? Is the phenomenon I’m trying to put my finger on just one of shifting emotions, a change of feelings that is neither good or bad? I’m still not sure, but as I’ve been reflecting on this tension for the past week, I want to begin praying for both: that I would put even deeper roots into Jesus, my ultimate contentment, and that he would fan passionate flames in me for gospel change.

No passion like a nerf battle with 8-10 year-olds!

Witness of Fun

I wasn’t part of the crazy fray, but I stood above it. Literally. I was in the balcony overlooking the chaos happening in the gym below me as small group after small group entered in their costumes. One group wore black-and-white striped shirts and white make-up, and they weren’t saying a word; rather they were running around and miming boxes around people. A freshman boys group was dressed in red hazmat suits, while a junior group was in Rambo gear chasing their two leaders in T-rex costumes. An adorable girl group was dressed in every emotion from the movie Inside out 2, a boy group as Minions, and a third was trying to represent the Louvre heist with their orange work vests, ski masks, and valuable items sticking out of pockets. The whole scene was an absolute hoot.

But what made me laugh almost more was glancing to my right and my left and seeing members from the other groups at the camp for the weekend, one Swiss and one German. Their faces bore equal amounts of amusement and confusion as they’d look at one another and shake their heads. Finally I wandered over to two chaperones and made some comment along the lines of “Crazy, huh?” The moment they recognized that I spoke their language, they pounced with questions. “What is happening? Who are you guys? What kind of kids are these?”

I sought to answer their questions, searching for the words to explain that our school is made up of kids from all over the world because their parents work in places where the name of Jesus is not yet known as it ought to be. Trying to convey that we were here to have fun but also take a moment to assess our own heart postures toward Jesus. Agreeing that what they were witnessing was “not normal” but also a sign of how comfortable our students were with each other and that we were a bit like family. This was underscored by the senior boys group who chose that moment to whip off their boring hoodies and reveal pink tutus underneath before their leader did a swan dive into waiting arms. The German chaperones shook their heads in disbelief. “This would never happen in our school!” they exclaimed. Fun and laughter were being used as a witness to the power of the gospel in that moment.

It gave me a renewed appreciation for the uniqueness of both our students and our small group leaders. The way they took delight in one another lightened my soul and spoke volumes to my heart about all the work leading up to High School Retreat being worth it. And it spoke to these onlookers about the freedom that comes in unity and sometimes chaos. If even one student felt wanted and loved by their small group and their Maker because of this evening, then I would do it all over again. And let’s be honest: I probably will.

Mega Relay 2026

The real reason we put on HS Retreat.

Chaplains Team + Speakers

(Pic Credit: BFA Communications Department)

A Song for my Soul

The hard hasn’t really let up. A fellow worker lies in a coma in a French hospital, a city I love is still hurting, and family hearts are discouraged. But last Thursday a moment of intense beauty made my heart soar. Plans went awry at Chrysalis due to absent leaders, and in a the necessary switch that followed, the team decided to sing worship songs instead. Armed for battle (see previous post) and with newly made-up song actions, the Middle Schoolers absolutely came alive! It was a declaration of hope to my soul, and I’ve probably watched the videos I took a million times already. Here’s a snippet:

The Lord, in his kindness, allowed that Chrysalis to minister to me perhaps more than to the kids. From the game time to the singing to the message a Senior gave about letting our Maker define our identity to the debrief afterwards, it all reminded me of what really matters, of what the true story is that I'm living out. It isn't funerals or corruption or suffering or even death. It's the story of Jesus beyond the grace. It's trading my sorrows for a story with a good ending.

Jesus in the Both And

So January just happened. I’m hunched over with my hands on my knees because it felt like one sprint after the other, a whiplash of glory and grit, a seesaw of delight and despair. We cheered in ecstasy at the one-point victory over a team ranked above us, and then moaned a week later when 20% of our student body were sick in bed. The impending need of a triple bypass surgery for one I love dearly reached me in the middle of Spiritual Emphasis week when hearts were being changed. There came the news that several babies will draw their first breaths in 2026, even as three souls drew their last this month, one only 6 years old.

I want to simultaneously shout for joy from the top of Freiburg's Schlossbergturm and have a good cry in a therapist’s office, run a marathon and curl up in a corner and sleep for a week. It’s not a surprise to me that life is full of these juxtapositions - brokenness and wholeness, life and death, spiritual oppression and kingdom beauty - it’s just that both have been so intense this month. This ampersand life we are called to is no joke. Making it to February has only been possible through the new-every-morning, matchless-grace-giving kind of strength that comes from a God who cares for his children deeply.

But isn’t that every month? It’s just that sometimes I see my need and his provision more clearly than others. Sometimes my racing heart and sore emotions make me look over at the bench, pleading with Coach Jesus, “Do you see that I’m tired? A little help here, please!” My utter dependency doesn’t grow in that case; I just see it for what it is: reality that has always been.

As I hiked above Freiburg today, I was struck anew by Jesus’ tears with Mary and Martha outside Lazarus’ tomb. He knew they were going to be reunited imminently, and he still wept. I know one day I will meet the two Owens who left earth this January again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t weep in the now. Tears and laughter. Hope and despondency. Jesus and more Jesus. I wouldn’t want any other life.

Jan 31: hiking above Freiburg

Discipling TCK's

Earlier this month, at the WorldVenture regional conference for Europe, a couple of colleagues and I gave a workshop on the following topic: Discipling Third Culture Kids. I said “yes” really quickly (probably too quickly), but I enjoyed the preparation phase of reading books and just processing so many things with the others. In working with TCK’s, whether as a teacher in the classroom or a chaplain engaging them with spiritual questions, the goal has always been one of discipleship. I want my own life to more closely mirror that of Jesus Christ, and I desire that as well for the lives of my TCK students. So after some back-and-forth, our team settled on 5 Principles we wanted to unpack.

1. See and Shepherd the Whole Story.

It feels like TCK’s live an “ampersand” life, a term adopted from Lauren Wells. They get to experience unique joys, such as being bilingual, navigating historical cities, celebrating multiple holidays, and belonging to multicultural communities. & the hard can be deeply formative, such as losing friends and homes at a young age, feeling misunderstood in both their passport and host cultures, living amid visible poverty or political instability, and even carrying an unspoken pressure to be flexible or strong or resilient. The majority of TCK’s, once they’ve reached adulthood, overwhelmingly say they wouldn’t trade their childhood away for anything (something like 96%), but in a discipleship relationship, it’s still important for the adult to invite a younger TCK to share both the joy & the hard.

2. Model Emotional Honesty and Grace.

If Principle 1 is about seeing the whole story, Principle 2 is about responding to it. Many TCK’s possess a highly developed ability to adapt; such an external skill of conformity often masks an internal world of questions, doubts, and unnamed emotions. Some keep it hidden due to the pressure to remain steady and mature; others have later admitted they pulled back the cover to reveal some kind of emotion and felt misunderstood. If the goal of discipleship is to walk with someone in a Godward direction, then we need to model what it looks like to take our emotions to our Maker. To not just name them, but to feel them and allow Jesus to enter into the ampersand life. He gets it, but are we as adults in their lives giving them permission to express things honestly and be met with grace?

3. Normalize Transition, Grief, and Lament.

TCK’s tend to experience 4-8 major moves before the age of 18, compared to 0-2 of most monocultural peers. Transition is part of the regular rhythm of the TCK life, generally not an interruption or even a mistake. While some are minor and some are life-shattering, each one will be accompanied by a measure of grief. And grief isn’t weakness, rather it is love expressing itself in the pain of loss. Over and over in Scripture we see the model (to connect to Principle 2) of lament, and it’s a gift we can give our TCK’s to teach them to bring their grief to God who sees and cares. Transition is at the core of the gospel story after all.

4. Prioritize Presence over Performance.

It’s not unique to the TCK heart to want to be in someone’s presence rather than to be their project. We all get that. However, given the reality of Principle 3 and the life of transition and loss that many TCK’s will live, one temptation they face is to give in to the “Tyranny of Shoulds,” a phrase adopted from Michele Phoenix. These are those unrealistic expectations many face simply because their parents serve and represent God in a way or culture that makes them stick out. When kids give in to these pressures to be extra mature or spiritual or “holy,” they tend to draw away from God rather than toward him. In discipling TCK’s, the heart of Principle 4 is to worry less about the behavior they’re exhibiting and meet them instead with the steadfast, unconditional love of their Father, who simply wants to be with them.

5. Anchor Identity in Christ amid Shifting Belonging.

It’s hard to talk about TCK’s and not touch on the notion of belonging because to belong someone gives a person not just roots, but identity. And identity is a key part of discipleship. Being known, loved, and wanted without the need to perform is a core desire I dare to say every human carries. Thus, an adult who has a voice in the life of a TCK has the opportunity to reinforce the truth of Ephesians 2 over and over again: your belonging is not tied to a country or culture, but to a person - to Jesus Christ. And through him, you get to belong to his family as well, the most beautiful multicultural group there ever was.

So there you have it, a cliff notes version of our workshop. We forgot to have anyone take a picture of us giving it. So instead, here I am just hours after giving it, ready to ring in 2026 with some other WorldVenture friends:

Happy New Year!

2025

 In January Darla came and made our week by impacting Middle Schoolers. In February I delighted in my small group girls. In March I hiked around. In April, we celebrated Ellen's 40 years. In May I saw elephants up close as we launched Tanzania. In June I wept with good-byes. In July the Alps called me higher for a couple of days. In August my PSI team doubled in size. In September all the Custer siblings gathered at my kitchen table for cookies. In October I sat by the fire. In November I fell in love with all my new kids. And in December Elli and I completed reading through the Bible in a year by celebrating our Savior's birth together. Am I rich or what!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why do we Sing?

A few weeks ago on a Saturday, I received some hard news. Naturally I was still processing it as I walked into church Sunday morning, wondering how in the world I was going to be able to sing. I contemplated escaping by checking to see if the nursery needed any last-minute help, but in the end, I took my seat and made sure I had the tissues ready. And something strange happened. As we sang song after song, I had this feeling of being almost two separate people: one who was preaching the truth of the song I was singing and the other a person who was receiving the truth of the song being sung to her. I was struck by the thought that I was engaged in a struggle of belief. Was God still sovereign and good and worthy of worship in the midst of sadness and grief?

An image floated into my mind of literary character Leeli Wingfeather (Monster in the Hollows, Book 3 of The Wingfeather Saga) standing on top of a building, playing her musical instrument, and successfully fighting the enemy that way. She makes music until her lips are bleeding, and then she keeps on playing. In this story, the music she creates is an actual weapon that vanquishes the evil trying to get her.

A quick AI search notes 185 distinct songs recorded in Scripture, most of them in the Psalms of course. Last week in MS Chapel, I shared the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel, whose arch takes her from sorrow of soul to mountains of delight. We had to stop shy of her battle hymn in chapter 2, which contains lyrics such as “My mouth boasts over my enemies, for I delight in your deliverance” and “The foundations of the earth the LORD’s; upon them he has set the world.”

Why do we sing? According to the Hadestown album - which has been on repeat in my apartment this month - the answer is “to fix what’s wrong, to take what’s broken and make it whole.” We sing to “bring the world back into tune,” in line with the Creator’s intentions. We are, in fact, in a constant, daily struggle of belief. We hearken back to Aslan’s song when he created Narnia, to the original melody unleashed in the world and that we know is still there, even though it’s been twisted and altered to suit our sinful fancies. Worship through song restores the tune; it is a weapon we’ve been given to fight the enemy, a gift for the children as they face the sadness and grief of the world but hope for the final day of victory to come. When we finally become His bride.

At Hadestown!

Middle Schoolers in the battle

A Prayer for the Nations

This week held both the MS and HS International Chapels. I love these days, not just because I get to pull out my colorful outfits from around the world, but because they have become beautiful pillars to remind me of who we are and what God is doing. These chapels are an invitation every year to actively participate in his global work, through worship and prayer. Last year, as Chaplain, I wrote this prayer for the nations that we got to pull out again this year. Join in participating as well!

A Prayer for the Nations

Psalm 2:8 says, “Ask of me, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for your possession.

Most High God, King of the Universe, we pray on behalf of the nations today. In accordance with 1 Timothy 2:1-2, we lift up and give thanks for the rulers, presidents, kings, and authorities of this world. We ask that you would give them a hunger for you, that they would allow the truth of Jesus Christ to have free reign in their countries, and that you would deliver your people from unreasonable men and all evil. Father, in your word you say that the hearts of all created people are in your hands and you can turn them according to your will. We ask that you would direct the hearts and minds of leaders in every single nation of this world, that they might come to believe in you and act in your ways and according to your word. Thank you for your sovereignty over all politics, powers, and influences.

We also pray on behalf of those who dwell in these nations, whose lives stretch the exact number of days you have ordained, and whose single greatest need is the truth of your gospel. Father, make yourself known to them! Open up ears to hear, eyes to see, and hands to praise. When people hear the name of Jesus, may their hearts year for more of you. To that end, we ask that you send laborers out to all corners of the earth - those whom you fill with your wisdom, favor, power, and insight. We pray for protection for them and their families as well as confidence in you to be their provider. Give them boldness to speak and serve so that you are remembered and exalted. Build your kingdom in and through them.

As we move toward the day when you return, we ask for the spirit of faith to unify us as believers under the power of Jesus Christ through His death and His resurrection, who brings about redemption and restoration with you. Reveal your glory in all the earth. Be magnified and praised in every nation we pray. Amen.

MS students at Chapel

On my Knees

It’s that time of year again when I’m living on my knees. No, I wish this were a blog about my need for and faithfulness in prayer. Alas, I’m talking about play season.

My first backstage experience was in college, and of course as a 19-year-old student, it felt completely normal to be kneeling on the stage while using a hot-glue gun to create a chandelier out of plastic cutlery. Up in the rafters of that show, we knelt all the time to pass papers up and down to each other. Even in my early years at BFA behind the curtain, I found myself on my knees more often than I could’ve anticipated -- fixing a prop that had just come apart in the last scene with duct tape, helping Anne of Green Gables slip out of her shoe and quickly into the cast for her “broken foot,” hunting with my hands on the dark floor for the microphone that had fallen through the actress’ costume before anyone stepped on it. I’ve knelt on the edge of the stage waving my arms, trying desperately (yet quietly) to get the detective’s attention because he’s supposed to go on in 10 seconds. I’ve been on my knees hemming up a skirt with safety pins that had come undone or helping the 5th grader crawl under the Beast’s table to pull down the final rose petal without knocking over the glass. A core memory was the time I knelt inside one the castle set pieces, seeking to stabilize the fake wall while Robin Hood and his Merry Men clamored over me in such a way to make it look as if they had just crawled up to a high tower window.

The older I get, the more often I end play rehearsal with a look to Heather, the director, and the same phrase, “I’m going to need a massage after the show wraps.” She usually laughs and asks how the knees are doing. But what a privilege. It's no secret that I love theater, and there’s no place else I’d rather be than on my knees putting down spike tape or reaching for yet another cough drop or looking for a lost prop that’s supposed to go on in 30 seconds. Because I get to be with my kids. And maybe, when I’m down there on the ground with my slowly aging joints, just maybe I’ll remember to pray for them as well.

Lauren putting down spike tape as we prepare for Sherlock Holmes.

20-year Anniversary with my Rug

Someone commented on my living room carpet recently. Rugs are so easily one of those items that you can stop seeing, beneath your notice with its familiar patterns and constant presence. But of course, once pointed out, I had to look down again and notice again the peach-colored swirls and blossoms on top of an azure base. To the best of my memory, my parents bought it when we moved to Spittal in 1995, which means it’s been in a Custer home for 30 years. That also means I’ve lived with it for exactly 20 of those years. 

I think of all the times vacuuming it, sweating on it with my dumbbells, playing Stool Pigeon with my small group girls, and watching Pride and Prejudice with 20 other women.

Then I think, “I’m writing a sentimental blog about a carpet. Get back to work!”

Writing break over now...

God's Good Kingdom

I listen to a lot of music. Generally when I’m walking to and from school or when I’m cooking, it’s either a podcast or music. And lately it’s been a lot of random recommended albums from Spotify. Sometimes I skip right through them, sometimes it’s just background noise, and sometimes the lyrics hit me right between the eyes.

Such was the song “Kingdom” from Isabelle Thom. It squeezes my heart every time it comes on. I sent it to my friend, Missy, who said she got 10 seconds in before realizing “Nope, this one is going to require all of me,” and she had to postpone the moment to later. Honestly, I have no idea how some songs have the ability to do that with the tune and lyrics, but this one simply feels holy. Somehow the Spirit in Isabelle when she wrote it many months ago is resonating with the Spirit inside of me today.

In Chrysalis last week I spoke about the goodness of God, and how it’s a core character trait from which his kindness and compassion and slowness to anger all stem. Because he is the author of everything good, then every gift is actually his goodness toward us. Every time I experience something beautiful or joy-inducing, it’s a gift he’s giving to me personally. It’s a goodness not distorted in the mirror. It’s a lasting joy where suffering is redeemed into pure comfort. It’s a reminder that the things (and people) he loves will last in the kingdom. This song is a present for me.

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where there isn’t any fear

Where the goodness of the story’s not distorted in the mirror

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where my joy won’t come and go

Cuz my brokenness will make its peace with the fringes of your robe

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where nobody cares for gold

Cuz the radiance of your mercy crowns the heads of your beloved

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where the things you love will last

And the jaws of death won’t clench around the ones who went too fast

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where lies won’t sound like truth

Cuz hell will wake and find itself dethroned and destitute

I’m waiting for a kingdom

Where faith will become sight

When you redeem our suffering

Before our very eyes

Sunset this weekend

Remember

This year at BFA, “remember” is our theme. To remember is biblical, of course. Depending on translations and exactly whom you ask, the word or concept appears roughly 250 times in Scripture. We are told to remember our Creator (Ecclesiastes 12), to remember God’s commands (Numbers 15), to remember his provisions (Matthew 16), to remember his wondrous works (1 Chronicles 16), to remember how far we have fallen (Revelation 2), to remember the greatness of salvation (Isaiah 46), and to remember others in our prayers (Hebrews 13). Sadly, it seems no matter how often I read the call to remember - a concept that sounds so easy on the surface - I fall short all the time. It requires intentionality, and sometimes I’m disheartened by the fact that it’s a struggle because I fully believe that the myriad of ways in which God has shown himself faithful to me personally are worthy of being remembered.

One thing I’ve found that helps is a symbol. Often in Scripture, active remembering is accompanied by an active marking. The Israelites crossed the Jordan under Joshua’s leadership and were told to grab 12 stones to set up as a memorial, a marking to remind future generations of the miracle. God himself set the symbol of a rainbow in the sky after he “remembered Noah” and so that we forever remember his promise to never flood the earth again. Perhaps my favorite symbolic marking is the taking of communion. “As often as you eat and drink it, do it in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:24-25). The Lord knows how fallible our minds are, how easily we forget or ignore, so he gives us symbols to help. It’s why remembering so often appears in imperative form.

To remember well is an honorable choice and can lead to deeper intimacy with the Lord. That’s our prayer for our students and our whole community this year. In Isaiah 63, the prophet sets about to actively recall God’s faithfulness to Israel (v. 7-14), and it overflows into a heartfelt prayer on their behalf (v. 15-19). I'm still hunting for the right symbol as I seek to convey this theme to our Middle School students, but for now, I'll tell them that remembering is for our good. It rights our perspective on the past because it spots God in the picture, allowing him to show us how he was present all along. "I will remember the things the LORD has done!" (Psalm 77:11).

Opening HS chapel!

pc: BFA Communications Team

5 Tips for the Solo Traveler

As a single person working internationally, it’s natural that I engage in solo travel quite frequently. Whether for work or play, traveling alone presents a few unique challenges, and here are my personal tips that I live by, not because I’m an expert by a long shot, but merely because these work for me.

Tip #1 - No rollerboard carry-on

Right off the bat, I know I’m contradicting other solo travelers who say this is their main hack in order to avoid checking a bag and risking it getting lost. Honestly, while lost luggage is a pain and I’ve had my fair share, I find the hassle of a rollerboard both in airports and on the planes doesn’t outweigh the risk. Maybe the reason is that I’m generally on a cheaper ticket, so I'm boarding near the end and hunting for a space, or perhaps it’s the unpacking and repacking of the bags at security that annoys me, and most definitely it’s in part the frustrating airlines who have started to weigh the carry-ons that have all swayed me this way. My go-to is to check a bag (even if it’s small and the size of a carry-on) and then to board with a backpack only. For short trips: backpack only. If there’s room, I’ll happily put it up in the bins, but I also know it can always fit under the seat in front of me. I feel less stressed boarding last, and the airlines rarely weigh a backpack. And yes, there’s always a spare pair of underwear tucked at the bottom as well as my toothbrush.

Tip #2 - Speed up Security

The challenge of security for me is to lessen the number of things that I will have to put in bins. Since the bins will definitely already have to contain my backpack, my jacket, and my laptop, I seek to speed up the process with these other minor suggestion:

• Slip-on/off shoes: Not all airports make you take off your shoes if they’re clearly made of cloth and rubber. Just in case they do, I avoid wearing laces when I fly.

• Toiletries: Having a hard bar of soap and dry shampoo means that the baggie of toiletries I need to pull out typically only contains my toothpaste. And often, if I get the mini size, they don’t catch it or care.

• No belt. Ever. Elastic waist bands all the way when I fly.

Tip #3 - In-Flight Hydration

While flying, I accept absolutely every liquid they want to throw at me, preferably extra bottles or cups of water. If I don’t want to drink it then and there, I pour it into the water bottle in my backpack. Way too often when I’ve landed somewhere, I still have a trek ahead of me, whether by train or car, and sometimes accessing water before I leave the airport isn’t an option. Plus, planes are so dehydrating!

Tip #4 - Post-Flight Bathroom Run

When I land at my international destination and really need the bathroom (which I usually do because of all the liquids), nonetheless, I never duck into the first restroom I see. Here’s my order of operations:

1. Briskly follow the signs toward the exit in order to beat most of my fellow passengers to immigration
2. Once I reach baggage claim, find the toilet.
3. Then retrieve my checked bag.

This saves me both from standing in longer immigration lines and from having to take my checked bag into the bathroom stall with me.

Tip #5 - Compression Socks

This has less to do with solo travel and is simply my age showing itself. Compression socks are my latest purchase and practice, and wow can I tell the difference. My restless leg syndrome has decreased dramatically. 

So there you have it! As I said, in no way do I claim to be an expert on travel, but I hope these personal preferences and silly ideas entertain and maybe will even help should you find yourself traveling solo in the near future.

recent flight when I found my village from the air