My mother insists my first sentence spoken at 11 months was, “Go bye bye” This continues to be my first sentence spoken on any given day at 526 months.
It’s fortunate, therefore that I work for an airline. It’s also fortunate that I love the people I work with and the chaotic, fast paced, never the same day twice, environment I work in. My brain actually does better in chaos, and I can assure you at the Jackson Hole Airport, there is chaos. Especially when it’s day four of a white out in Jackson, Wyoming. And day four of no planes landing in Jackson. And day four of trying to rebook the same bride from days one, two and three who is by this point, puddled on the floor, wailing like a toddler, since her destination wedding was NOT suppose to be the boarding area of the Jackson Hole Airport.
I know… Diva right?
One of the benefits of working for the airlines, besides the obvious perk of those snappy polyester uniforms, is that when seats are available, I fly for free. And so does my family. Which means we can all GO. Even if everyone doesn’t like to go.
OR we don’t like everyone who does go, wink wink.
I am happiest when I am creating something or learning something, or seeing something new. Travel feeds all these snapping, ravenous wolves with one giant hunk of meat. #tasteslikechicken
I love the thrill of adventure, the brimming uncertainty of being immersed in the raw beauty of a new culture. I enjoy connecting with locals and other travelers.
I could travel 24/7, but my kids are needy about me being around, and 24/7 adds up $24,700, so there’s that. (See what I did there?).
So I sneak a little bit of go time in here and there where I can, and try to patiently wait when traveling doesn’t fit in my schedule. Or there’s something innocuous happening, like a pandemic. But like a crack addict, the addiction is always there, burning with the unquenchable ache of desire; itching; an open wound. If I can’t go somewhere, then I confess I’m often thinking of going somewhere. I have to try some self soothing by absently scrolling through travel websites on my phone. Torture myself with website links and long discussions with friends, until I can finally get high again. There is no rush like the heady, rush of euphoria I feel when I hear the sound of 232 seatbelts unclicking at the same time.
When I do drag my boys along (and be assured I do) we have a signed contract stating that if I take more than 354 photos in one spot, (I’ve had to point out the fine print on that sentence multiple times) they can have me physically restrained, committed, and get dinner at a Chinese Buffet of their choice. So far that hasn’t happened. I have a hard cut off at 353 pics.