jet fueled

The reality of solo-dom disappearing soon hits me almost everyday, and in rushes a profound tender admiration for the woman I was in my 20's. Lost yes, but exploring, free to investigate, stuck, then free again, unleashed into the world. There's so much to see.

The other day a breeze hit me and I was transported back to the entrance of the Zurich art museum. Sometimes it's Spain, and a particular set of stairs in Seville. Or a bench I sat on in Edinburgh. Pizza in a small cafe in Solerno, a cheese pie in Croatia. Sometimes the train station in Paris, or the bus stop in Toulouse. A dirty sidewalk of NYC, a park in Boston, a bike ride on the beach of North Carolina's Outer Banks. Even the red sands of PEI's national park and the cobblestone of Montreal's old town. A dart of fear hits me: will I travel so freely again?

It's made me want to count my aeroplan points and devise a plan. A pregnant lady adventuring (desperately?) into an unknown, for the sake of that rush of uncertainty, something or someone new, freedom. Spending time in the beauty and wonder of the world, away from chores and work and any kind of responsibility other than finding some good food to eat and a decent place to sleep.

Travelling anywhere in summer is expensive, hot, and touristy... by fall I'll be too huge for a plane to carry me. Plus money and time that should be spent on other things, in preparation. Perhaps when I'm 60, an art class in Florence. Till then, a family and the adventure that IT is. Perhaps a family that travels.