Road Trips

An old favorite of mine is Willie Nelson’s On the Road Again. My favorite part of the song was:

On the road again,
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

I used to sing this song religiously on our family car trips—at the start of the trip, after every bathroom break, lunch stop. There is something so freeing about a road trip, something so exciting about packing a bag of snacks, getting your favorite songs queued up and hitting the open road.

As a child, I loved road trips because they were taking me to someplace new, but now, I love them for a different reason. This afternoon, Andy and I will start a four-hour road trip to visit my family in Maryland. As we are sometimes ships passing in the night, I have found these road trips have taken on a new meaning: they are a time to reconnect, to talk about the week, future plans, our thoughts and ideas. I love that time. I no longer see a road trip as just a means to get somewhere, but now I cherish the trip itself.

And, I have found my new perspective on road trips has taught me a good life lesson: instead of always looking at the destination, enjoy the journey, the time around you. So, as I am about to embark on our mini road trip, I can’t help but think how excited I am to have four hours of time with just Andy—I can’t wait to get on the road again.

Matching Bracelets

There are some people who come into your life, and there are some people who are born into your life. My sister was born when I was three years old. I remember bickering with my older brother when my mom was pregnant about whether the baby would be a boy or a girl; I, of course, wanted a sister. When she finally arrived in this world, I was ecstatic (and not only because I won the bet). Having a sister is one of the most wonderful things in the world, even despite the teenage years when you are arguing about wearing each others’ shoes and reading the latest Seventeen before the other gets to see it.

I recently spent five days in Costa Rica with Amanda—five days of uninterrupted sister time. Not only did we have a chance to conquer the rapids of the Pacuare River, swim in and zip-line through the rainforest, hike and tour nearby coffee fields, take a salsa class (followed by an impromptu dance party with just us and the one other guest there), and practice yoga twice a day, we also had time to talk—about our lives, our fears, our hopes, our dreams. Sitting in the dining room at the yoga retreat where we stayed, we would cause stares of unbelief as we would laugh till our stomachs hurt and we were ready to pee our pants. Moments like those, moments when you are sitting with your sister, reminiscing and giggling, surrounded by the lush landscape of Costa Rica, remind you how beautiful life can be.

As we were sitting in the airport, waiting for my sister’s flight to board, we saw two little girls walk by—one was around three and the other was about five. They were holding hands, had similar bobs, and were wearing identical white button-down shirts, denim pants and red Keds. We looked at them and chuckled, remembering the matching perms, yellow shirts and green plaid pants, jellies and denim jumpers. As they walked through the airport, hand-in-hand, I wished for them a lifetime of that—a lifetime of having a sister, a friend, to share the delights and tribulations of life. I am so grateful I won that bet, and I love that my sister is still there to walk by me, hand-in-hand, wearing our matching yoga bracelets.

Amanda and I in our matching outfits and perms.

Our matching bracelets from Costa Rica.

-->

My Travel Buddy

Love pushes you to travel great distances, both within yourself and outside of it. In fact, I believe there are few things that are as life changing, as love not only changes the path your life takes, it changes who you are—you can become someone you never thought possible, test yourself to try something you never dreamed achievable. You grow, sometimes challenging the person you were, and yet you must always strive to preserve you—the wonderful you that fell in love and was fallen in love with.

This morning, my alarm went off at 4:20am—an ungodly hour that few see, or should see. I got up, packed away the last remaining items, double-checked to make sure I had my passport and boarding pass, and then woke my sleeping husband. He groggily arose from bed, started his coffee, and in ten minutes, was in the drivers’ seat heading to Newark International Airport. There are grand gestures of love, and there are the everyday, unadorned gestures of love. This morning, with his modest act, I was reminded that I am loved.

Now, as I sit on a plane traveling to Costa Rica where I will meet my sister (which I cannot wait for!), I am reminded how I am usually sitting next to Andy. I miss my travel buddy—my partner who lets me rest my head on his shoulder, who explores a new place with tremendous vigor and excitement, who pushes me to zip-line when I really don’t want to. But, I still have the taste of his simple act of love this morning. Yes, love can take you great distances, but sometimes it takes you on a 40-minute car ride.

My travel buddy and I across the world in...

Greece

Italy

South Africa

Lottery Tickets

The other day, I was walking through midtown Manhattan when I saw a man leaning against some scaffolding surrounding a sky rise; he wore a once white, now gray, construction hard hat, battered and torn jeans, and scuffed steel-toe boots. In his tanned and worn hands, he held six lottery tickets and a dingy penny. You could see a slight smile cross his weathered face as he continued to scratch the ticket, hoping it would reveal something grand. The image of this tired man, still brimming with faith and anticipation, resonated with me.

Most everyone knows the odds are against someone when a lottery ticket is purchased; and yet, millions are sold every year. My father persistently buys lottery tickets, and with every ticket, he wishes that this is the one—this will be the one that changes everything. I remember when we were planning my wedding, he would come home from the local convenience store, grinning, lottery tickets in hand, look at me and say, “This one is going to pay for the whole thing.” The sparkle in his eye as he checked the paper the next morning was still there, still hoping he had a winner, even though he knew he probably did not.

Despite the grim statistics, my father, the man I passed on the street, and thousands of others still believe in the possibility of something great. Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all.” To anyone who has ever dreamed and hoped for a better tomorrow, keep singing, keep believing.

A Return to Childhood

--> -->My sister recently sent me photos of my family’s trip to Michigan. As a kid, we would travel from Texas to Michigan via car, usually around the 4th of July. Most of these trips were taken in a rather unreliable, past-its-prime, orange station wagon…with no air conditioning. And yet, these trips were some of the most enjoyable of my life; not because the location was so exotic and new, but the opposite: because it was so familiar.
I remember as you would approach the “hills” right outside of Alpena, you knew you were getting close, and the butterflies in your stomach would start to flutter; as you reached the town limits, the butterflies were birds and your heart was thumping, anxious to see your family and old haunts—the putt-putt golf course on the beach, the domed Dairy Queen, Bob’s Big Boy, 432 Dawson Street and 117 Lewis Street. And, then, the station wagon would make that final left turn onto Dawson, and you were so close you were bursting with excitement! At my mom’s mother’s house, you would open the screen door and step inside—the sound of the plastic runner in the hallway under your feet and the smell of Polish sausage drifting through the hall made you realize you were once again home. And when we visited my dad’s parents’ house, it was the same thing: I would stand, transfixed with the miniature shamrock tea cups in the front room and the family photographs from years before lining the walls of the living room, even though I had seen both a million times before. It was the sense of arriving, of being home, that was so easy and recognizable, and yet still enthralling.

Towns change, people come and go, but in seeing those photos, it was like a time capsule had opened: my grandparents were there to greet me with a warm hug, the swing in the backyard under the chestnut tree was inviting me to play, Abitibi was lingering in the air, but, most importantly, the joy and happiness of those times came rushing back.

As we get older, and our ambitions take over, I think we stop treasuring those simple moments. So, I am taking this moment to remember a familiar trip, filled with wonderful people, laughter and love, and cherishing the time we had.