Traveling, like for real
I’m all aflutter, waiting for 3pm when I go to the airport for my first flight across the ocean. The longest flight I’ve ever taken was from Dallas to Toronto. Going from the US to Canada, there are only subtle differences that tell you you’re in another country – signs in French and English, distances measured in kilometers, money with a queen’s head on it, over-the-counter pharmaceuticals you’d need a prescription to buy back home, and Cuban cigars.
But England is a whole different world, even if they do sorta speak my language, and even if I have been pretending to travel there for the past six months. I think of my cousins who grew up in Muslim countries, and how their parents protected and sheltered them in many ways. But they have the experience of living in foreign lands and speaking other languages, and I’m the one who really feels sheltered as I leave my home continent for the first time ever, in celebration of my 40th birthday.
This is my reward for all the event planning I did last year when my girlfriends were having babies and getting married. I said, don’t worry about me this year, just do something special for my birthday next year. I suggested a party, and then someone else suggested a trip, so I’m thinking, we should go sit on a beach somewhere and have pretty boys bring us fruity drinks with lots of rum in them. When D suggested we go see her aunt in England, it was like an epiphany. Oh my god, I could actually take a trip to Europe? Really? YES.
So, as I prepare to leave, I think of my friends, leaving their young babies at home for a week to spend their time with me. And I feel loved. My only regret is that my man can not share this experience with me. Then again, he figures all he needs to know about foreign lands he can learn on TV.
But today, I’m turning off the tube, putting my books down and living. For real.