Solo travel is the highlight of a year for me. To pack and take off for a time; be no ones mother, wife, daughter. There is no obligation to anyone. To run off and experiment with who I might be now…what do I like to eat when no one is looking? …what time would I naturally wake up in the morning if I didn’t have lunches and breakfasts to make and work to get ready for?…I am not the me I am at home.
It has a price though. The build up to going for me is all excitement but for my husband and children it is just kind of sad. They try to be supportive but it is not fun for them. They all have more jobs to do, they seem to get coughs and colds, they miss my presence. It’s all a bit miserable for them.
On the day of departure I cannot wait to get to the airport, restless and eager, brimming with anticipation while they want to accompany me and glumly trail after me as I check in and hand over my bag. It’s a bit of a downer. Saying goodbye is emotional for them while I am breaking my neck to just go.
Throughout my trip I have almost daily chats with my family via messenger for 10 or 15 minutes and they share about their day (& their ailments), and they ask me about my day. It’s almost like not being away at all for a bit. Sometimes there is just not enough distance, I feel too available; but other times is it enormously comforting to connect in. It’s kind of like solo travel for 23 and 3/4 hours a day. I know I sound a little heartless and if my husband liked to leave me to travel while I was left to run the household too much I’m sure I would suffer myself. I have to gracefully navigate their experience as I have mine.
I’m incredibly grateful for my 23 and 3/4 hours each day on this gorgeous experience I’m having.
I’m so so grateful to be back in Italy.
I’m so grateful for my wonderful glorious life.