I’m packed. Ready to leave in just a couple of days, first for New York and then on to Ireland — several full days in Dublin planned, three farm hosts across the country locked in, plane and train tickets bought, the works.

And then I get a message last night from my middle host at the walled castle garden.

Canceling.

She doesn’t have enough work.

Wait, what? I read it twice. Not enough work — at a castle?

First of all, I’m disappointed. I was really looking forward to that. And then, I realize . . . that leaves me stranded for two weeks, and you remember how I felt when I got stranded by Greyhound, right?

She said she has a friend who may need someone, so maybe this will all work out. Something about woodland restoration. It was kind of her to offer a possible alternative.

But still. Not what I expected after all the careful planning.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Try not to cry. I go to my mental toolbox internally and remind myself what is meant for me will be sent to me.

But still. So many logistics. So much time spent. So much researching and preparing and getting my ducks in a row (literally). No matter what I do, it’s not enough. It’s never, ever enough. (Just let me wallow a minute, ok?)

It’s just a plot twist, I finally tell myself. Good will come. What’s meant to be will be. You’ve pivoted before. (May I remind you all about Missouri and Kansas? Best part of Round America with a Duck, I think.)

I wait to hear more about the woodland. And, yes, of course, I message my other two hosts to see if I can extend my stay with them to fill this new gap.

I write to Lloyd at WWOOF Ireland to see if perhaps there is a host who just got stiffed by a WWOOFer and we’d be a good match.

I even go on Workaway to see what they’ve got. (Do I want to stay in a dorm room at a Buddhist center in Bawnboy, Ireland? Hmmm. Maybe . . . I loved the Krishna Temple/llama ranch in Utah.)

But that voice starts bubbling up. You know the one if you read my first book in this series. The one that says why are you even doing this? The one that says quit.

I go outside and my home garden is lush. The food pantry garden needs me. The community garden harvest team welcomes me each week. Why? Why? Why do I need to go? Can’t I just stay home and eat my own greens (and chocolate)?

And so, on bended knee I turn it over to my Higher Power. I haven’t been learning Gaeilge for six months to eat seacláid at home. I haven’t been doing pushups and lifting weights to watch Netflix. I haven’t been deep-diving in my family’s heritage and my mother country’s history to hide away at the bottom of a hill in suburbia.

As usual, as always, I don’t know what will happen next. And my philosophy, the tattoo on my arm, the motto, the mantra of trust the journey, once again, gets tested.