The following is an extract from my book, Running into Myself: A Journey Through the Soul of the Feat.

Belly of the Whale

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” — Charles Dickens

July 2007. I spent my flight to the States on tenterhooks — would they let me in or would they send me packing?

In the Hero’s Journey, the Belly of the Whale represents the final stage of separation from the Ordinary World or our old way of Being (childhood, single life, outmoded patterns of behaviour, etc). The hero must cross this threshold before they can progress on to the next stage of the journey — initiation. The Belly of the Whale motif represents confusion and disorientation, a time of betwixt and between. You’ve left your old world, but aren’t quite in the new.

Think of a caterpillar entering a chrysalis. This is a time of transition and metamorphosis — you must consciously die to your old self and undergo a period of chaos in order to embrace the new. It can be a lonely and precarious time. During this time people often dream of passageways, doors and bridges — all symbolic of this transitory state. Insecurities, wounds and shadow issues rise up and threaten to overwhelm the initiate. These are represented by the gargoyles, dragons and demons on the exterior of religious temples. But they serve as a necessary warning — if you’re not ready for what lies ahead, turn back. Change is not for the faint-hearted. But this is only a temporary situation — if the initiate can stay in the tension and survive this liminal state, they will see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. In my case, the threshold’s gatekeepers were represented by US Customs and Border Control — also known as Homeland Security.

Of all my US border crossings, this one actually started out the best. The officer processing my entry was friendly and welcoming — until he turned over my I—94 form and saw I’d ticked the box indicating a visa refusal.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you know what this means?’

I shook my head.

‘It means they’re going to detain and interview you. Now, here’s some advice — stay calm. Answer their questions honestly and whatever you do, don’t cry.’

Oh god, what are they going to do with me? I was told to stand on the nearby yellow line and wait to be escorted to another part of the airport.

What most upset me about the whole experience was I’d done nothing wrong. I’d done everything by the book and was being penalised for it.

Women and men were interviewed in separate holding areas. As we’d been separated, I expected women to be interviewed by female officers and men by male officers. But that wasn’t the case — there were only male officers interviewing and processing our cases while I was there.

Sat on rows of benches in a rather austere-looking room, we waited  to be called into one of the interview offices. Soon it was my turn. Head bowed, I made the long walk to perdition. To his credit, the officer interviewing me was firm but fair. Remembering what I’d been told about not getting upset, I calmly explained my situation. He pulled the information from the Embassy to verify my statement, only to find they’d wrongly input my details, saying I planned to live in India. Considering the circumstances this wasn’t helpful. The more footloose-and-fancy-free you appear to be — the less of a Square-Shaped Life you lead — the more problems it creates for those still ingrained in the system.

I informed him this definitely wasn’t the case. My intention was to travel, yes, but I didn’t know how long for. I explained how I hoped to spend the summer in Santa Fe with my boyfriend, leave before my visa expired and return for the New York Marathon in November. I also explained that the Embassy said as long as I flew back to the UK before my ninety days were up and stayed away for at least a couple of weeks, I’d be okay to return for another ninety days.

‘They shouldn’t have said that,’ my case officer said. ‘Doesn’t work like that. It’s our decision whether we permit entry, not theirs.’ He sighed before going on. ‘Look, if you have an American boyfriend and plan to see one another regularly, the best advice I can offer is to just get married.’

I was speechless. Get married? What, just like that? Just to make it easier to see one another? What about getting to know one another first? We’ve only spent five weeks together out of six months. I don’t want to jump into marriage just to make things easier. That’s not what marriage is all about. I want to marry for the right reasons. Not be forced into it. Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself.

He mulled over my case. In the same room, two officers discussed the case of a young woman who’d been seated next to me on the flight over. Seems she’d previously run into trouble over her visa but had since had a baby to an American guy — a baby that seemed more of a hindrance judging by her lack of interest. Listening to the officers discuss her history it seemed I wasn’t too far wrong. Still, I didn’t think it was professional to discuss someone’s case in front of other ‘civilians.’

Finally, he let me go. It seemed that keeping calm and telling the truth had paid off. Scurrying out the detention centre, a female officer ushered me over. Oh no, not more questions.

But another officer told her I was okay and to let me go before sniggering to his colleague, ‘She’s a writer.’

I felt a knot of anger. Yeah, and what do they say about the pen being mightier than the sword? I dashed over to the luggage carousel, grabbed my suitcase and threw it in luggage transfers before rushing through the terminal to seek solace in the largest margarita I could find.

But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Later that afternoon a storm descended. My connecting flight was cancelled. I wasn’t too bothered though — I’d been perched at the bar swigging margaritas all afternoon. Before that I’d never sat at a bar alone, always been too afraid. But soon I was chatting away with other passengers and having a whale of a time. It wasn’t long before everyone ditched their beers in favour of margaritas as a festive mood gripped the bar.

That night, hundreds of stranded passengers slept on camp beds supplied by the airport. But I didn’t sleep a wink. Even the alcohol didn’t help. I was flanked by the Ubiquitous Snoring Man. I’d just dozed off when they woke us at 4:00am to pack up the beds. I was beginning to go stir crazy with jet lag. I was also aware of my repugnant body odour after being cooped up on a long-haul flight and not being able to shower. My flight was rearranged to the following afternoon. But an hour before I was due to fly, another storm descended. Once more my flight was cancelled, leaving me to face another night at the airport and, despite my best efforts to find a quiet corner, another Ubiquitous Snoring Man.

While rearranging my flight, it transpired that the operator handling my call was a football fan. Better still, he was a huge supporter of my home team — Manchester United. After a long chat, he asked how I managed to stay in good spirits when I’d just had another flight cancelled. He was used to people screaming down the phone at him, demanding he raise the dead and move mountains.

‘Well, it’s not your fault it is?’ I said. (I’m sure another afternoon drinking margaritas also helped.) ‘Look, after what I encountered at Homeland Security, this bit is a walk in the park.’

It pays to be polite. He got me on a 6:00am flight the following morning. What I didn’t know until boarding the plane was that he’d also upgraded me to first class. Typical, my first time in first class and I smell like rotten eggs.

Seventy-two hours after leaving the UK via one last change at Dallas, I finally arrived in Albuquerque. Skidding into the arrivals hall I looked around for Corvus — but he wasn’t there. My heart sank. He knew I was coming. I’d kept him updated of developments the whole time. But suddenly he stepped out from behind the crowd, grabbed me and gave me a no-holds-barred kiss. Then he immediately took me home for a hot shower.

I’d made it.

:::

To buy a copy of Running into Myself, visit Amazon UK, Amazon US or, better still, order a limited edition signed copy direct from her publisher here (also ships worldwide). Also available to download on Kindle.

“Thea’s personal journey is utterly compelling. I couldn’t put her book down. Thea manages to make Greek mythology not only understandable, interesting, and relevant to our lives today, but shows how it can be utilised as a tool for self development. She introduces ideas and ways of thinking that broaden your mind, and lights the way for others to follow.”

— Melinda Messenger (TV Presenter)