Canterbury Cathedral is one of England’s most sacred places. It is a site of pilgrimage, martyrdom, and centuries of devotion. But woven into its long history is a quieter thread: the ghost stories that cling to its cloisters, towers, and shadowed passageways.

Canterbury’s haunted reputation doesn’t come from its most famous martyr, but from the other figures whose stories ended in violence, betrayal, or unrest. The cathedral’s ghost lore centers on spirits tied to unfinished business — monks who never left their cloisters, an archbishop murdered in revolt, a servant condemned for poison, and the restless shadows of knights returning to the scene of their crime.

The Ghost Monk: Canterbury’s Most Frequently Seen Spirit

If someone tells you they saw a ghost inside Canterbury Cathedral, they’re almost always talking about the Ghost Monk. This hooded Benedictine figure glides silently through the cloisters, his robes brushing the stone floor as he appears without warning and vanishes just as quickly into shadow or stone. Sightings of this silent monk span centuries and come from every corner of cathedral life, from visitors pausing in quiet corridors to cathedral staff locking up for the night to clergy moving between services and students on late‑evening tours who swear they’ve seen a dark-robed figure slip past them and dissolve into the ancient walls. He is often seen near the Dark Entry, a vaulted passageway that already carries its own unsettling reputation. Some say he is a remnant of the medieval monastic community that lived, worked, and prayed within the cathedral walls for hundreds of years. Most often, the temperature will drop as he appears, still lost in thoughtful prayer.

Whether he is a guardian, a restless soul, or simply a memory replaying itself, the Ghost Monk is Canterbury’s most enduring apparition.

The Ghosts of Becket’s Assassins: Restless Knights in the Martyrdom

On a cold December evening in 1170, four knights loyal to King Henry II stormed into Canterbury Cathedral. Their target: Archbishop Thomas Becket, once the king’s closest friend who became his fiercest political opponent.

The knights cornered Becket near the north transept, now called The Martyrdom, and attempted to drag him outside the church to kill them. Becket refused and grabbed onto on the pillars. Whether frustrated, angry, or determined, one of the knight raised his sword and sliced off the top of his head. Two other knights joined in the attack and, moments later, the archbishop lie dead. His blood stained the stone floor. His skull was shattered. The monks who witnessed it wrote that the cathedral “echoed with the sound of steel and screams.”

Not long after he died, miracles began to happen and pilgrimages to Canterbury began while some purchased bottles of his blood mixed with water. Within five years, Becket was canonized as a saint.

While Becket himself does not haunt the cathedral, his killers—Reginald FitzUrse, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy, and Richard le Breton—are said to return to the site of their crime. Their haunting is tied to Conquest House, the building where they gathered before entering the cathedral on December 29, 1170. Ghost tours often stop there, describing flickering lights, cold spots, and the sense of being watched.

In Canterbury’s folklore, the knights are forever condemned to revisit the moment that changed English history.

Archbishop Simon Sudbury: The Gentle Ghost of Sudbury Tower

If someone reports seeing a ghostly archbishop, it’s not Becket. It’s Simon Sudbury.

Sudbury was murdered during the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, dragged from the cathedral and brutally beheaded. His body was buried without his head, which still rests in St. Gregory’s Church nearby.

His ghost is said to haunt Sudbury Tower, the Cathedral corridors, and the former clergy lodging rooms. Witnesses describe him as a pale, bearded man wearing gray archbishop’s robes. Known for being more gentle than threatening, one of Canterbury’s strangest traditions claims Sudbury has been known to tuck visitors into bed in the tower’s old residential rooms. These experiences have been repeated so often that they have become part of the city’s official ghost tours.

Nell Cook and the Dark Entry: The Cathedral Precinct’s Most Famous Haunting

Just outside the cathedral, in the precinct passage known as the Dark Entry, lies one of Canterbury’s most chilling legends.

The Dark Entry itself is a vaulted brick passageway in the cathedral precincts which connects the cloisters to the prior's house. The spot is naturally chilly and shadowed, even on the sunniest day.

Legend says that in the 16th century, a woman named Nell Cook worked as a servant or cook to a wealthy canon. Devoted and loyal, Nell worked hard and served her master well. Until she discovered him having an affair with a woman he claimed was his niece. Furious, she sought revenge. She baked a game pie filled with venison, rabbit, pheasant, partridge, or pigeon and laced with either arsenic or hemlock. She served them both the meal, killing them both.

Her punishment came quickly. It was said that she was buried alive beneath the Dark Entry stones.

Most often on Friday nights, a sad, dark shadows drifts through the passages that is now considered one of the most haunted spots in Canterbury. Even animals refuse to enter the area, and Nell Cook’s story remains one of the city’s most told ghost stories.

Why Canterbury’s Ghost Stories Endure

History feels close throughout Canterbury, and especially in Canterbury Cathedral. Tales of betrayal, love, revenge, and violence have long been a part of both the city walls as well as the cathedral. These legends endure because they’re deeply rooted in the way Canterbury remembers its past and a storytelling tradition that has stretched centuries.

And in a place where so many lives have intersected with faith, power, and tragedy, it’s no wonder some stories refuse to fade.

After the emotional, chaotic moment of moving out of the house, we needed time to regroup, finish prepping, and hit some bucket list moments before we left Indiana. For that first full week, that meant living in a nearby hotel in the Ft. Wayne area. The same place we had called home for ten years, but now, that story had shifted—and come full circle from ten years earlier when we decided to build a home and move there. Same hotel, same feel, only this time, our new life was beginning in a much different way. And Fort Wayne was no longer “home”. It was simply the most practical place to pause, regroup, and get ready for the next chapter. A familiar backdrop for a completely unfamiliar transition.

A Week That Made Sense

There was a lot of ground to cover that first week. We had a moving truck full of boxes to unload at the storage units. Garbage bags full of odds and ends that needed to be moved into boxes to transport to storage, or disposed of; a car that needed to be taken to storage once the initial errands were resolved (i.e., last-minute doctor appointments, vet appointments, shopping, etc.). Visits with close friends who had moved to Wisconsin a couple of years earlier but were in the area during the same period. Amazon orders for tech to take on the journey. The list was long, and being in familiar areas while we covered these last few crucial steps made sense.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t misjudge just how crazy busy this week would be. I fully expected to have a few quiet moments to decompress, stabilize a runaway nervous system, and just kind of breathe it all in. For the most part, that didn’t happen. But it was still a good week of marking off that checklist, and being able to do that? As they say in the ads - priceless.

Hotel Living: The First Step Into Travel Mode

Living in a hotel for a week in the same area we’d lived for a decade was surreal. It felt like being halfway between two lives — not settled, not traveling yet, just suspended in a strange in‑between space.

The girls adjusted quickly. Chloe and Louise settled into the room because all they cared about was being with their family. And for us, it became the first quiet signal that our life was shifting. No house. No routines. Just a temporary room and a countdown to departure day.

Rebuilding Our Tech — Phones, Tablets, Computers

This was the week we rebuilt our digital life from scratch.

We upgraded everything:

• new phones
• new tablets
• new computers

This wasn’t a crazy shopping spree as you might think. No second Christmases for us because every dollar had to be carefully managed. But this was a necessity. We needed everything to be reliable for travel, from the 4-year-old cell phones that no longer kept their charge as they once did to the computers the girls needed for a new way of homeschooling. Plus, everything had to be travel-friendly, and I needed a stronger computer that could handle all the demands of editing, filming, writing, and travel. Our old devices had been stretched thin through everything we’d gone through. This was the week we finally equipped ourselves for the travel life we were stepping back into.

It was a bit like assembling the tools for a new chapter—piece by piece.

Meeting Up with Friends Before Leaving

When you are shifting your entire life around and leaving people behind, catching up is another necessary part of the process. We had said goodbye to neighbors, and that had been hard. Our friends from out of town were another important step not just for myself but for my youngest daughter, whose best friend was part of this family.

We turned their visit into a preview—a launchpad—of what was to come: visiting a local festival we had never been to, visiting the Ft. Wayne Zoo once last time (you can find details about this fantastic attraction here), and getting some chocolate at De Brands (check that out here) because who doesn’t need chocolate when they’re shifting a whole life around?

This was our last important goodbye and a soft pause before the momentum picked up at the end of that week of in-between.

The Important Stuff: Travel Prep in a Familiar Area

All the logistics happened here:

• packing
• organizing
• planning the route
• last‑minute errands
• making sure the girls had what they needed
• making sure we had what we needed

In all honesty, doing all of this in the same area we’d lived in for ten years felt strange. It was equal parts comforting in its familiarity, but also like preparing to leave a place while still being inside it. But the week wasn’t about the past. It was about getting ready to move forward.

U-Haul served as the home for our belongings (and still does at the time of writing this). We chose U-Haul containers for our belongings. These units were self-pack and can be loaded onto a ship and sent overseas—or even across the country—without ever touching them again. Unloading the moving truck took a day and a half of exhausting work. If you love puzzles, you would love this process. But knowing that we wouldn’t have to travel back up to Indiana to find another way to transport our items wherever we finally landed was worth the effort. U-Haul helped us every step of the way; prices are reasonable ($37 a month per pod), and each pod was securely locked while we had, and have, the only keys. That allowed for an important peace of mind.

Toward the end of the week, my husband took his car and stored it there. We hadn’t wanted to sell the vehicles until it became clear where we would finally land, and mine was carrying us south

Pets – Another Key Piece of the Puzzle

Traveling with pets overseas was another important part of our journey. As I said before, they wouldn’t be left behind. Looking back over the last few chapters, I don’t think I ever went through all the steps to traveling with them. I should have. It’s a lot. I can say honestly that it was one of the most stressful parts of the journey.

Every country is different, and the laws are forever changing, but when we traveled last year, and at the time of writing this, we needed to cover important key steps. Failing to comply with any of these steps would result in the pets being unable to travel, or worse, being denied entry on the other side of the ocean. When I say we love our pets, they are family members, so this was enormously stressful from beginning to end.

The first step is making an appointment with a USDA-certified vet. Not all vets are USDA certified, so you can’t make this appointment with any office, and it may not be with the vet you’ve used for years. Before we left our home, I had called around Ft. Wayne area and even priced out vets in Orlando near where we were flying out to head to France. Thankfully, I learned the local vet five minutes down the road from our house was not only certified, but also far less expensive than many of the other vets we spoke with.

Our dog had to be fitted with a microchip (our cat already was), and both pets had to carry devices recognized by authorities overseas (again, not all are). Once she had that, both pets needed their rabies shots. We also ensured all other shots were up-to-date so nothing was left to chance.

It’s important to note for those of you who may be reading this and considering taking your pets overseas, the microchip had to be done before or at the same time as the rabies shot. If the rabies shot is done before the microchip, the shot is considered invalid. Just a heads up, because this process has to be exact.

Timing is everything when traveling with animals. After the rabies shot is received, the pets can’t travel for the first 21 days. Additionally, once you receive the USDA paperwork, you have to travel within ten days, or you have to start the whole process over again. And, at almost $900 for two pets (which is on the low side), starting over wouldn’t be cheap. Another date to consider is that, generally speaking, the USDA won’t have your paperwork to you until 24 hours prior to your departure date recorded on the official paperwork (I scheduled our flights for two days after the date on the paperwork. It gave us that extra wiggle room while still remaining safely within the ten-day window.)

I said that all to say that our time in Fort Wayne, along with our upcoming time in Orlando, helped us to meet these essential dates. To streamline everything so paperwork wouldn’t be lost in the mail, I also set up a PakMail address near Walt Disney World so the pets' paperwork could be shipped there and we could easily retrieve it. While we were in Fort Wayne, we also purchased an IATAN-approved dog carrier for our Pomsky, who would be flying in cargo, and for our cat who would be traveling with us in the cabin.

Want the free resource for traveling with pets? You can find it here.

More items completed on our checklist. And time was marching on.

Reservations – The Next Legs of Our Trip Set in Stone

Another item on our leaving-the-US-bucket list was visiting Covington, GA on the way to Florida. A few years earlier, I had watched Vampire Diaries for the first time, and not long after that, my oldest daughter did. We were both big fans, and she really wanted to see Covington before we left. It actually worked out well. Covington was eight hours from Ft. Wayne and was the perfect overnight stop for the pets to stretch their legs and for all of us to catch our breath before heading to Orlando and Walt Disney World the next day. But, again, traveling with pets presents its own set of challenges in that we needed accommodations that not only accepted two pets but allowed both a cat and a dog. The list is relatively small, but we found a La Quinta (more on that in the next chapter of our story) that was minutes from the town square.

Reservations were made for the pets to be boarded in Orlando for a week while we took a short vacation at Walt Disney World – the only real vacation in the journey. Reservations were made for Coronado Springs, a moderate resort at Walt Disney World, along with a handful of dining reservations for some of our favorite places. And reservations were also secured for staying at an Extended Stay just off-site from Disney for a five-day stay before flying out (again, giving us that little bit of wiggle room to ensure the pets' paperwork was received AND that the 21-day window from the time of their rabies shots was satisfied). Airline tickets were reserved to fly from Orlando International Airport to Charles de Gaulle in Paris for both us and the pets.

By the end of the week, our journey was planned and set in stone. The house sold. Pets ready. Belongings trimmed down to three suitcases and three backpacks, with everything else either thrown away or in storage. Devices set up. Plans made.

And us—finally ready to get on the road.

The Ft. Wayne prep week wasn’t dramatic, but it was important. It was the bridge between the life we’d just come out of and the one we were about to step into.

Next stop: Departure Day → Covington, GA → Mystic Grill.

There are moments you plan for, and then there are moments that feel like they were waiting for you. The Tampa Bay Comic Con proved to be a lot of both.

A couple of years ago, my oldest decided she wanted to meet Ian Somerhalder. So when we learned he would be appearing at Tampa Bay Comic Con, we knew this was the perfect chance to finally make that dream happen.

We went in with a mix of excitement, nerves, and anticipation. Not only were we meeting an actor we all loved, but we had never been to a Comic Con and had no idea what to expect. Outside of our short photo op with Ian Somerhalder, would we enjoy the experience? Would it be too crowded to get around? Would my youngest be bored? And what would Ian be like in person? We’d heard all good things, but my oldest had high expectations, and my youngest is not exactly a fan of meeting new people, much less a celebrity.

It turned out our experience exceeded every hope, doubt, and concern.

Arrival at the Tampa Bay Convention Center

I had been to Tampa once years ago, during my first Disney trip as a teenager, but remembered nothing about the drive. As it turned out, the one‑hour ride across I‑4 was easy and filled with music, chatting, laughter, and a whole lot of guessing about what the day would bring.

Two quick turns off 275 later, we were parking in the garage. (Side note: have you ever felt like the concrete beams overhead are way too close and you’re about to take out the top of your car? Just me?)

The convention center sits in a beautiful part of town, and the garage is just a short walk past a Hilton and across the street to the waterfront building. We arrived an hour and a half before registration and found a growing line already forming outside the doors. Despite the humid September morning, the crowd buzzed with excitement. Overhead fans offered the only breeze while we stood packed like sardines, but the costumes, conversations, and friendly neighbors made the wait surprisingly fun.

After security, scanning QR codes, wristbands, and — yes — another line, we finally made it inside.

The Convention Floor

The hall was loud and bright — that familiar mix of fandom energy, merch tables, and people dressed as characters they love. We made our way to celebrity row to see who we could spot before the panels started.

Table after table, we walked toward the back row where the Twilight cast was stationed, followed by Paul Wesley and Ian Somerhalder. The lines were thick, and Ian’s table was buried behind a wall of fans. We caught only glimpses before weaving through vendors and heading downstairs for pizza while waiting for the first panel.

The Panels

Katee Sackhoff

Our plan was strategic: attend Katee Sackhoff’s panel first, stay in the room afterward, and secure good seats for The Vampire Diaries panel.

Full disclosure — we weren’t familiar with Katee Sackhoff and didn’t expect much. Instead, she blew us away. She was reflective and funny, talking openly about her ADHD, how it influences her acting process, and even how it inspired Bo‑Katan Kryze’s finger‑rubbing gesture in The Mandalorian. She described how she builds characters from the ground up, including how they walk. It was a fascinating glimpse into the craft of acting, and the hour flew by. Watch a clip of the panel here. 

The Vampire Diaries Panel

The MC warned the panel would start late, but he kept the energy high with music and an impromptu dance party. After forty minutes, we assumed with heavy disappointment that it wasn’t happening.

And then Ian Somerhalder walked on stage with Matthew Davis right behind him.

The room became electric.

They talked about their biggest kill regrets (Ian saying Lexi — couldn’t agree more), Alaric’s tragic arc, Ian’s environmental work, and more. The panel lasted less than twenty minutes, and Paul Wesley couldn’t make it, but it was still fantastic. Check out the clips here.

The Twilight Panel

Next up was the Twilight cast: Peter Facinelli, Kellan Lutz, Ashley Greene, and Jackson Rathbone. We couldn’t stay for the full hour because Soleil Moon Frye’s panel overlapped, but the group was incredible. Peter and Jackson’s huge personalities had the room laughing nonstop, while Kellan and Ashley brought a calmer balance. Together, they were perfect.

We stayed for about thirty minutes — long enough to hear cosplay picks, strange fan‑signing stories, and Jackson’s band announcement. Check out the clips here.

Soleil Moon Frye

We arrived at Soleil Moon Frye’s panel expecting a full hour, but she only had about ten minutes left. Still, she was brilliant — funny, warm, and genuine. She shared stories about celebrities who visited the Punky Brewster set in the 80s, then called everyone up for a group photo. She even complimented how beautiful the girls were. It was a sweet, unexpected moment. Check out the moment here.

The Photo Op

And then the moment we had been waiting for all day arrived.

The closer we got to the photo‑op area, the more everything softened into a single feeling: this is going to be a memory we keep forever.

Ian Somerhalder has a reputation for being warm, present, and genuinely kind with fans — and he lived up to every bit of it. When it was our turn, he didn’t just smile for the camera. He lit up, pulled us in, and said, “Get in here, you beautiful people.”

It was quick, as photo ops always are, but it didn’t feel rushed. It felt intentional. It felt like he saw us.

My daughters were glowing. I could feel their excitement in the way they leaned in, the way they looked at him, and the way they looked at me afterward. For a moment, the noise of the convention faded, and it was just the three of us — sharing something we’ll talk about for years.

There’s something powerful about meeting someone whose work has threaded itself through your life — through late‑night episodes, comfort rewatches, shared fandom moments, and the stories that shape us. But the real magic wasn’t the celebrity. It was the experience. The memory. The way it stitched itself into our family story.

We left with photos, videos, and a handful of clips I’m sharing across YouTube and TikTok, but more importantly, we left with a moment that felt bigger than the convention itself.

It's true to say that travel is often not about miles. That's just logistics. Instead, it’s about the moments that remind you you’re still collecting stories worth telling. 

And this one? We’d recommend it to anyone — and we hope to experience it again.

Want tips on attending a convention? Check out our resources for your free copy. 

Read More

Looking for a Walt Disney World-inspired reading list? Check out ours.

At the start of your bookish travel planning? Read my full guide here. 

Stay a Little Longer

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Join the Journey

Moving day wasn’t supposed to feel like a countdown scene in a disaster movie, but that’s exactly how it unfolded.

The morning started with good intentions. We got up early. There was a plan. The girls were officially out of school, transitioning from online learning into true homeschooling, and it was all hands on deck. We had until 5 p.m. sharp—not a second later—and while the list was long, there was a steady confidence humming through the house.

We had this. Until we didn’t.

The Slow Unraveling

In the beginning, everything moved with purpose. Room by room, doors closed behind us like quiet victories — each one swept, checked, cleared of forgotten treasures. The living room was a disaster zone of suitcases, backpacks, pet carriers, clothes, books, and bathroom supplies, but that was fine. I could pack a suitcase in minutes. Chaos was manageable when it was my chaos.

But time has a way of shifting from companion to adversary.

By 2 p.m., the hours felt like they were taunting us, daring us to keep up. By 4 p.m., the kitchen still wasn’t packed. Trash still needed to be taken out. Suitcases still needed to be loaded. Two vehicles still needed to be filled.

And that’s when the neighbors rushed in.

The House Becomes a Hurricane

In the last twenty minutes, our neighbors stepped in and helped in a way I could never describe. Four extra adults, five extra kids, and people were everywhere: grabbing things from cabinets, tossing items into boxes and garbage bags, moving through rooms. There was no longer any rhyme or reason to where our belongings went. It became a frantic mantra.

“Just get it out.” “I’ll sort it later.”

Voices overlapped. Kids ran back and forth. The house we had lived in for ten years was being emptied in fast‑forward, and I didn’t have time to breathe, much less think. Some rooms were vacuumed and cleaned. Others I never even reached. It was pure survival — pack, load, move, go.

Two vehicles, thankfully, multiplied to four, and without them, we never would’ve managed to get everything out in time.

And then it was over.

I walked through one last time, through a home now stripped of everything except echoes and memories. When the final door closed and the garage creaked for the last time, the house looked hollow.

The Gas Station Moment

The first stop after leaving wasn’t dramatic. It was a gas station — the same one built the year our home was. My husband ran inside, and I sat behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel, lungs refusing to cooperate. All the trauma responses barreled into me like a freight train. The world pressed into my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe what we had just done. My hands shook. My stomach turned and clenched. All the while my kids sat in the backseat and the neighbors' cars parked around us. 

The moment lasted only seconds, but it carved itself into my memory as a scar I will never forget.

The First Hotel

And then came the moment I had tried so hard to avoid.

Walking into the hotel lobby looking like we had just escaped a tornado.

Garbage bags. Loose items. Stuff that should’ve been sorted, donated, or thrown away. All of it now riding shotgun into the first chapter of our temporary life.

We looked like the homeless version of our own family, dragging ten years of chaos behind us in plastic bags that crinkled with every step. People stared and I didn’t blame them. I probably would’ve stared too.

But beneath the embarrassment, something else stirred — a strange, stubborn pride. Because no matter how messy it looked, we did it. We got out in time. We closed the chapter. We survived the rush, the pressure, the noise, the countdown, the chaos.

We may be standing in the lobby of our first hotel with the remains of our entire life in garbage bags — and the rest sitting in a moving truck in the parking lot ready to head to storage. But, somehow, that was the beginning of the next chapter, not the end of the last one.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t organized. It wasn’t the version of moving day I imagined.

In all my planning, I had underestimated a lot. Underestimated the hurt of walking out for the last time. Underestimated how much time we’d need. Underestimated the gratitude I’d feel for neighbors who stepped in without being asked — people who saw what we needed exactly when we needed it.

But in the end, it was real. And sometimes the real chapters are the ones that end up meaning the most.

The call came in before noon, right after the girls started school and I was deep into editing a manuscript. It was an ordinary moment, but inside those few seconds, everything changed.

We’d spent ten years inside these walls. Ten years of birthdays, school mornings, late‑night talks, quiet victories, and loud heartbreaks. And suddenly, with one phone call, the future snapped into place.

The sale had gone through.

Before I had a chance to process the emotions waiting anxiously in the wings, the next sentence came across the line: “Closing is in five days.”

Five days. Five days to pack ten years. Five days to dismantle the place where my kids grew up.

There’s a strange stillness that happens in moments like that. A little shock, definitely — especially since our real estate agent had assured us we’d have more time, had even said the sale could fall through. But the ticking clock numbed everything else. We didn’t have time to think about how, in less than a week, the roof we watched rise from nothing would no longer be ours to sleep under.

There was only the shift into that automatic, robot‑like mode: Get this done. And that. And don’t forget the thing over there.

Emotions would come later. Just then, it was clear this was the chapter we’d been walking toward since the listing went live. And now it was here.

Time to Box Up Our Life

We had started with a few things, but as I walked through the house — all 1,700 square feet of it — I realized just how much more there was to do. I wanted to be organized, intentional, and turn it into a frantic free‑for‑all. One room at a time. One memory at a time.

We began in the spare room that had once been the girls’ school room and playroom. We sifted through piles of drawings I’d kept over the years, boxed up yearbooks, photos, and toys they didn’t want to part with. We separated a few photos to bring with us — little anchors that would make any stop feel even a bit like home. We grabbed favorite books for the road.

Then we moved to the next.

The Girls’ Room

Their room was the emotional center of everything, it seemed. Every wall had a story. Every drawer held something forgotten until now.

They did most of the packing themselves, but as I watched, I saw their childhood replay in flashes—nights they didn’t want to go to bed, stickers they’d plastered onto their dresser, sleepovers and quiet evenings, sick days and scraped knees from learning to ride their bikes.

Gradually, box by box, those bittersweet memories were readied for storage. Some pieces were set aside to travel with us. Others went into the garage sale pile as we prepared for the final purge.

The Weight of Ten Years

You don’t realize how much life accumulates until you have to fit it into cardboard.

As the days cycled closer to closing, it became clear we needed more time. Things weren’t out of control—not yet—but everything took longer than I anticipated. A garage sale. Work. Cooking dinner. Last‑minute groceries. Laundry. Life didn’t pause just because we were leaving it behind.

And through it all, we watched the rooms empty little by little, each one carrying a different version of our family’s life. Exhaustion crept in. Excitement and wonder thrummed through every minute. Sadness teased at the edges.

But underneath it all was something else—a quiet, steady hum of forward motion. We were leaving, yes. But we were also stepping into the life we’d been building in our minds for months.

Closing Day

Nothing in the process was more bittersweet than pulling up to the company where the closing was to take place. We arrived first. Thankfully, we’d extended our stay in the house by two days to finish packing, but the countdown was very much on.

When the buyers walked in, I found myself wondering how they would treat the house. Would they make the memories we had? Would they find friends in the neighbors we’d spent ten years sharing our lives with? What would the house look like when they decorated it? Would Christmas smell like cookies and turkey? Would there be quiet movie nights, birthdays with cake and friends?

As my thoughts rolled on, the papers were ceremoniously signed. Arrangements were made for where we’d leave the keys. Hands were shaken.

And just like that, the home we had lived in became nothing more than a rented roof as we finished prepping for the first leg of our journey.

It was a strange feeling that was equally surreal, nerve-wracking, and peaceful.

The Last Night in the House

By the last night, the house echoed. Clutter still lay on the counters. Suitcases still needed to be packed. There was so much left to do, but we were confident we’d finish on time, even if the final day would be a little more frantic than I would have liked.

And final goodbyes had already begun with the neighbors and friends, another layer I hadn’t quite prepared for as much as I thought I had.

At the end of the night, I walked through the house before exhaustion finally won, letting thoughts drift through everything the house had given us. Stability. Growth. A place to raise our kids. A place to dream about what came next.

And now “next” was finally here.

Five days. Ten years. Nearly packed, sealed, and ready for the next chapter.

Tomorrow, the journey would begin.

I’m going to be extra vulnerable here and give you a glimpse into the other side of this journey. Because there’s a part of August that no one saw — the part happening inside my chest, inside my head, inside the places where old fear still lived.

CPTSD doesn’t disappear just because life is moving forward. If anything, big changes make it louder.

So every day, I felt two realities at once.

On the outside, I was packing, planning, organizing, and pushing forward. On the inside, my nervous system was bracing, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for something to fall apart, waiting for the kind of shock it had learned to expect.

Just because it wasn’t logical didn’t change what was happening. The CPTSD that I live with daily is the residue of a life lived in too many unstable moments. And as much as I would’ve liked to, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. Because it shaped everything — and continues to—from the way I breathed through every waiting moment. To the way I reacted to delays. To the way I held myself together so, from the outside, everything looked good to everyone else, especially my girls.

But there was a darker side. The nights I lay awake, second- and third-guessing every decision, every plan, every action, even though things weren’t really wrong. But my body didn’t know how to trust that things could go right. Staring at the dark ceiling above my head, listening to the familiar sounds of the wind dancing along the side of the house, the cat into her nightly mischief, everyone sleeping. Trying to breathe through it all and envision the goals and path ahead. Sometimes it would look bright and full of all our hopes; other times it was full of gnarled trees whose branches I couldn’t quite escape. Then, inevitably, I’d fall back to sleep. And every morning, I got up and kept moving forward.

And that’s the part of the story that needs to be shared. The trauma is mine to tame, the origin is mine to face, but stepping forward in the face of all the doubt doesn’t belong to just me. And if that trembling resilience helps someone else move forward even while shaking, that part matters.  

So August wasn’t just about the offer. It was about learning that even with CPTSD — even with the weight of a nervous system that never rests — I could still choose a future that felt bigger than the past.

And in choosing it, I proved something to myself: the nervous system that once held me back no longer gets to decide the direction of my life.

This time, the future didn’t just pull me forward. I stepped with it.

Most of us don’t design our travel days. We fill them with reservations, rides, landmarks, transportation, meals, photos — all packed into a schedule that leaves no room for breathing. And then we return home wondering why the trip felt rushed, blurry, or strangely forgettable.

But a good travel day isn’t built from quantity. It’s built with intention.

This blueprint is about crafting days you can actually feel — days that stay with you long after you’ve unpacked your suitcase instead of fading into a background blur.

Start With One Anchor, Not a List

Every meaningful travel day begins with one thing, a single anchor that gives the day shape.

It might be:

• A quiet breakfast in a place that feels local
• A museum you’ve always wanted to see
• A walk through a neighborhood you’ve never explored
• A ride, a show, or a single experience at Walt Disney World
• A landmark that has been on your bucket list
• A bookstore you’ve been dreaming about

That one moment provides clarity for the day, a center that you can build the rest of the day from. And from that, everything else becomes optional, which is where the magic happens.

If you want to explore this idea further, you might enjoy The Art of Noticing.

Build Around that Anchor

A travel day breathes in the quiet moments, whether they be short or long. Instead of stacking activities back‑to‑back, create intentional pockets of space:

• Time to wander
• Time to sit
• Time to notice
• Time to let the place speak

These spaces are where the unexpected moments happen that you’ll remember years later. The café you didn’t plan to find. A hidden ruin tucked behind a shopping district. The quiet bench with the perfect view. The conversation with a stranger. The street you turned down for no reason at all. When you give yourself time to wander, you’ll be surprised what you might find.

Choose a Sensory Theme for the Day

Give the day a sensory thread — something subtle that guides your attention.

It might be:

• How the light shifts against the Eiffel Tower throughout the day
• Notice the color palette in the park
• Listen for the musical theme playing in the background in a Disney park
• Feel for the texture in the chateau stone or the cobblestone beneath your shoes
• Take in how fast or slow the world moves around you

A sensory theme turns the day into a story. It gives you something to follow, remember, and feel. Bonus: it can also help with the stress of traveling.

Let One Thing Surprise You

Every good travel day needs a moment of serendipity — something you didn’t plan. You can’t force a surprise, but you can make room for it.

Try:

• Taking a different route than the map suggests
• Walking into a shop simply because something in the window caught you eye
• Sit on a bench for ten minutes and watch how life unfolds around around
• Following a sound, a smell, or a color
• Asking a local what they love most about the area

Some of our favorite moments were those we didn’t expect, and many of them became the emotional spark that we most remember. But remember these moments don’t have to be big. Even walking slower through the queue might give you a chance to notice a detail you didn’t see before or meet someone who tells you their story that will stick with you long after the moment has passed.

End With a Closing Ritual

Most people end travel days abruptly by rushing to one last thing or even just by collapsing into bed. But a closing ritual gives the day a sense of completion.

It might be:

• A slow walk back to your hotel
• A final cup of tea or dessert
• A few lines in a travel journal
• A photo of something small and meaningful
• A moment of stillness before sleep

A closing ritual seals the day. It turns experience into memory.

If you want to build deeper rituals, explore Travel Rituals.

The Blueprint in Practice

A well‑designed travel day feels like this:

• One meaningful anchor
• Space around it
• A sensory thread
• A moment of surprise
• A gentle closing ritual

It’s simple, intentional, and it creates the kind of memory that doesn’t fade.

At the start of your bookish travel planning? Read my full guide here. 

Stay a Little Longer

Learn more about the stories that we carry with us and how travel changes us through the stories we learn and experience. 

Join the Journey

It’s funny how the big moments never feel big when you’re standing inside them. The day the people came to look at the house was so ordinary it barely registered. We went to the store, our neighbor and friend watched the house, and a woman and her son walked through. They didn’t stay long. They didn’t linger or ask questions. They just stepped inside, stepped back out, and left.

We figured that was that.

We came home, slipped back into the routine, and tried not to think too hard about what it meant.

And then the call came in.

They wanted the house — and they wanted it badly. No house to sell. No inspection. Just the appraisers and underwriting left between us and the future we’d been inching toward for months.

I want to say I was over the moon, and part of me was. But there was a heaviness threaded through the excitement. After the first offer fell through, I tried to stay steady, but the truth is that part of me wondered if the universe was hesitating. And if I’m honest, a small part of me wanted it to. The bigger part wanted everything to move forward, but the emotional toll of the decisions we were making still weighed on my heart.

The days ticked on, and we started packing a little more here and there. We checked off some of our bucket‑list stops — like going to the Toledo Zoo one more time. The girls started school, settling into their routine even as everything around us began to feel more real.

There were nights I’d take our dog out and stand in the quietness of our backyard, staring at the little tree we’d watched grow from a weed‑lookalike into a young tree taller than me. I’d look up at the stars and think about how they would look the same where we were going. The grass would feel the same. The birds would sound the same. But what would it be like to stare up at the sky in a foreign country where we didn’t know anything or anyone? Would it feel like all the other moves I’d made from state to state or would it be something entirely different?

In those moments, alone in the quiet and the dark, I let the gravity sink in. I wanted to hug our home, silly as it sounds. I didn’t cry, but I could have. Instead, I tightened the leash around my hand, leaned down to pet Chloe, and turned back to look at the warm lights glowing through the windows of the home we built. This time, it felt real. In my gut, despite all the questions, it felt like we were moving forward.

When I told the girls, their reactions were mixed. My oldest was over the moon, her eyes lighting up with all the possibility ahead. My youngest was more subdued — excited, curious, but a little more uncertain. And again came the question I had asked them a hundred times: Are you both sure you want to do this? At this point, backing out probably wasn’t an option without penalty, but I had promised them all along that if they changed their minds, they only had to say the word and I would pull the plug.

They both assured me they still wanted to go. They asked how soon things might change, whether this was the moment the dream started becoming real. Their excitement didn’t erase the weight I was carrying, but it softened it. It reminded me why we were doing this, why the dream mattered, why the future we were building was worth the hard parts.

Just like that, August became the month where the emotional landscape shifted. The pressure didn’t disappear — the budgeting, the planning, the responsibility were still there — but they felt different now. I worked constantly, planned even more, and my normal sixteen‑hour days stretched longer until I slept only four hours a night, trying to pull everything together.

No one had called to say the sale fell through. And as the days moved into September, it seemed more and more certain that the move wasn’t hypothetical anymore.

It was happening. It was ours.

Looking back, August wasn’t just when the last offer came in. It was the moment my shoulders dropped, my breath steadied, and the future finally stepped forward and said, I’m ready when you are.

I was ready. And I wasn’t.

And that’s the strange thing about the future — it comes for you whether you feel prepared or not.

St. Augustine’s Abbey ruins are easy to overlook. Located just outside the medieval city wall, the abbey is quieter and far less photographed. Built around the year 598, it was once one of the most influential abbeys in medieval Europe. Now, the ruins are only shadows of what once stood. They don’t tower into the sky like other abbey ruins throughout Britain, but there’s a whisper of the past among the stone remains — an invitation to wander the grounds and imagine what once was. In that way, they remain a powerful beacon from centuries before.

A Brief History Written in Stone

Although the exact founding date remains somewhat uncertain, St. Augustine’s Abbey was established around 598 AD, making it one of the earliest Christian sites in England. For hundreds of years, it served as a monastery, a royal burial ground, and a center for learning. But when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, the abbey fell into ruin. Many of its stones were repurposed for other buildings, its cloisters emptied, and its chapter house fell forever silent.

These are the broad strokes of its history — the bullet‑point version — but countless lives were lived in and around the abbey.

An Impressive Queen

In the abbey’s earliest days, Queen Bertha — a devoted Christian and Frankish princess — married King Æthelberht of Kent. As a pagan, he did not share her beliefs, but he agreed to allow her to practice her faith as part of their marriage agreement. When St. Augustine was sent by Rome to Canterbury, it was Bertha who persuaded her husband to listen. With her influence, and under the guidance of the Pope and Augustine, Æthelberht eventually converted to Christianity.

Considering the culture and beliefs of the time — and the limited roles afforded to women —most records from the period barely mention her. Women were often considered inconsequential beside the men who dominated political and religious life. Yet the Pope compared her to Helena, mother of Constantine, the first Christian emperor of Rome. It’s difficult to imagine a greater compliment paid to any woman of her era.

She must have been a formidable woman, and it’s easy to imagine Queen Bertha walking the early halls of the abbey, her presence quietly shaping the future of English Christianity.

A Revered Stone

Before St. Augustine arrived in Canterbury, local tradition tells of a stone on the Isle of Thanet where St. Augustine first landed. The story goes that when he stepped onto the shore, he left a permanent indent in the rock. The stone was later moved to a chapel, and an annual pilgrimage began during which locals prayed for healing at its base.

Daily Life Within St. Augustine’s Abbey

For all its political and religious significance, St. Augustine’s Abbey was, at its heart, a home where dozens of monks lived quiet, disciplined lives shaped by devotion, routine, and the slow, steady work of preserving knowledge.

Life began long before sunrise. The monks rose in the dark, gathering in the church for Matins, their voices rising in soft chant that echoed through the stone arches. Prayer framed every part of their day — the thread that held their lives together. After Matins came Lauds, then a simple breakfast of bread and ale.

From there, the abbey shifted into motion. Some monks tended the gardens, growing herbs for medicine or vegetables for meals. Others cared for the sick in the infirmary, mixing salves and tinctures from plants grown just outside the cloister. A few taught novices, passing on traditions that had shaped the abbey since its founding. But the heart of intellectual life was the scriptorium — a long, quiet room where monks copied manuscripts by hand.

Silence was expected and cultivated. Meals were eaten in the refectory without conversation, accompanied only by the voice of a reader reciting scripture. But despite the silence, the abbey was not a lonely place. It was a community bound by the shared experience and belief in prayer, learning, service. They cared for travelers, offered charity to the poor, and maintained the rhythms of worship that shaped Canterbury’s spiritual life.

A Notorious King and A Stop for a Future Queen 

Hundreds of years later, St. Augustine’s important collided with political posturing when Henry VIII ordered his men to dismantle St. Augustine’s Abbey with brutal efficiency. The Dissolution of the Monstaries had already taken place in other areas of Britain, and tales of the sometimes brutal conflicts, the monks at St. Augustine chose to peacefully surrender. The site was systematically stripped of its treasures and wealth, including fragments from St. Augustine’s skull. Tombs and shrines were destroyed, and by the time the king’s men moved on, very little remained of the once‑majestic abbey.

Only the abbey apartments were spared and were converted into a royal palace. In 1539, Henry VIII ordered the palace be readied for his next queen, Anne of Cleves. She was greeted by the Archbishop of Canterbury on December 29, 1539 and stayed one night in the palace before making her way to meet the infamous king.

The Lost Library

Among the most heartbreaking losses tied to St. Augustine’s Abbey is its library, which was once considered one of the most important centers for learning in medieval England. Before universities existed and Canterbury cemented its importance as a city of pilgrimage, the abbey’s library served as a beacon of knowledge. Monks spent hours in the scriptorium, bent over parchment, copying manuscripts by hand. Some worked by daylight; others continued by candlelight, their ink freezing in winter, their fingers stiff from the cold.

The library held biblical texts, classical works, early English histories, and countless manuscripts that recorded the growth of Christianity in Britain. It was a place where learning was both preserved and created.

When Henry VIII ordered the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the library was one of the first casualties. Books were ripped from their bindings, manuscripts burned or scattered, and centuries of knowledge vanished almost overnight. Only 283 volumes survived, those writings now held in museums and archives far from the abbey that once protected them.

Standing among the ruins today, it’s impossible not to imagine the library as it once was: shelves lined with manuscripts, the smell of ink and vellum, the quiet scratch of quills across parchment. The silence of the ruins feels heavier when you remember that this was once a place where knowledge lived, breathed, and grew.

Walking the Ruins Today

Walking through St. Augustine’s Abbey feels different from visiting the Cathedral. The Cathedral rises above the city with confidence and grandeur, but the abbey sits quietly, its presence softer, its story carried in fragments. The grass grows thick over the old foundations, softening the outlines of the church and cloisters. The sky fills the empty spaces where stone once rose, and the wind moves through the broken walls like a voice that remembers more than it can say.

Footsteps sound different here — slower, quieter, as if the ground itself encourages you to take your time. You can stand where the monks once walked their cloister, the worn stone now open to the weather. You can trace the edges of the chapter house, imagining the echo of voices that once gathered in debate or prayer. 

There’s a moment, usually when the sun hits the stone just right, when the ruins feel less like remnants and more like a doorway — a place where the past doesn’t feel distant at all. Read More

Learn more about what it's like first Stepping Into Canterbury — Where the Story Has Already Begun. 

But long before the abbey was built, the Romans lived in what would be one day become Canterbury. A rich townhome is not far from the abbey; explore its halls here.

At the start of your bookish travel planning? Read my full guide here. 

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