plane ticket: arm + leg. knowing when to go "home": priceless.
Last week, before the fall-out of the last guy (in, admittedly, a string of "last guys"), he asked me in email form a pretty blah, Katie Couric kind of question, which was: "If you could be anywhere, doing anything right now, where would you be and what would you be doing?"
Even though I thought it was a lame and impersonal question, I endeavored to answer it. My mind flashed to some of my happiest moments; namely, playing "stick in the water" with my golden retriever mix, Shino, in college. I loved that house with the creek and tiny waterfall in the backyard. I loved playing aqua-fetch with my constant companion. Shino was with me always, and taught me so much about trust, love, and boundless joy. Man, those were the days...
And before I knew it, my eyes had welled with tears. At work, no less. So there I was--crying in the office bathroom about my deceased dog and those simple, Alabama times--experiencing a homesickness more visceral than usual since my departure four years ago. "This doesn't have to feel this badly," I told myself. "If you're this homesick, you CAN go home. Just pull the money out of savings; it's why you save in the first place."
So yesterday I did the unthinkable and unusual, and booked a flight to Huntsville for Thanksgiving. The cost was rather obscene, but Amtrak was only $70 less and would come with the bonus of sitting for 22 hours both ways. Hell. No. What's so unusual about this holiday travel is that I NEVER do it. In the past 10 years I have eaten ZERO Thanksgiving meals with my family, mainly because TG was the first holiday/family meal I experienced by myself in college during my parents' divorce. Ever since, my tradition has been to buy a pumpkin pie, a six-pack of beer, and thank myself for being such a tenacious, independent, strong, resilient person. I'm thankful for ME, I'd say silently.
But maybe I've outgrown that defiant tradition. Perhaps my wounds have healed more than I've noticed or admitted. And while bellying up to a turkey whose body has been pumped with growth hormones while living and cavity stuffed with breadcrumbs and such upon slaughter does not sit well with my vegetarian diet and anti-factory farming convictions, seeing my mom, sister, and a handful of friends does give me a warm feeling.
I've traveled three times this year, all to see family. I didn't really consider the implications until now, but perhaps I'm more family-oriented than my bridge burning former self. Despite all thoughts to the contrary, apparently I am not an island.
Still, I'm planning some selfish travel next year... something like a yoga retreat in Mexico for my 30th birthday.
Even though I thought it was a lame and impersonal question, I endeavored to answer it. My mind flashed to some of my happiest moments; namely, playing "stick in the water" with my golden retriever mix, Shino, in college. I loved that house with the creek and tiny waterfall in the backyard. I loved playing aqua-fetch with my constant companion. Shino was with me always, and taught me so much about trust, love, and boundless joy. Man, those were the days...
And before I knew it, my eyes had welled with tears. At work, no less. So there I was--crying in the office bathroom about my deceased dog and those simple, Alabama times--experiencing a homesickness more visceral than usual since my departure four years ago. "This doesn't have to feel this badly," I told myself. "If you're this homesick, you CAN go home. Just pull the money out of savings; it's why you save in the first place."
So yesterday I did the unthinkable and unusual, and booked a flight to Huntsville for Thanksgiving. The cost was rather obscene, but Amtrak was only $70 less and would come with the bonus of sitting for 22 hours both ways. Hell. No. What's so unusual about this holiday travel is that I NEVER do it. In the past 10 years I have eaten ZERO Thanksgiving meals with my family, mainly because TG was the first holiday/family meal I experienced by myself in college during my parents' divorce. Ever since, my tradition has been to buy a pumpkin pie, a six-pack of beer, and thank myself for being such a tenacious, independent, strong, resilient person. I'm thankful for ME, I'd say silently.
But maybe I've outgrown that defiant tradition. Perhaps my wounds have healed more than I've noticed or admitted. And while bellying up to a turkey whose body has been pumped with growth hormones while living and cavity stuffed with breadcrumbs and such upon slaughter does not sit well with my vegetarian diet and anti-factory farming convictions, seeing my mom, sister, and a handful of friends does give me a warm feeling.
I've traveled three times this year, all to see family. I didn't really consider the implications until now, but perhaps I'm more family-oriented than my bridge burning former self. Despite all thoughts to the contrary, apparently I am not an island.
Still, I'm planning some selfish travel next year... something like a yoga retreat in Mexico for my 30th birthday.