“And when I woke up the next morning, I had booked four international trips! FOUR! We weren’t even that drunk!”
I was in stitches. My co-worker was standing over my desk, rolling her mischievous eyes, tossing her dark shoulder-length hair over her shoulders, her smile pinching her cheeks upwards.
“Seriously. One bottle of wine. That’s it. And a gin drink.”
“I can drink more than that!” I declared. To be fair, my co-worker can too. But despite my bourbon talents, I have no trips, international or domestic, planned. And I was jealous. Like Scarlett O’Hara can’t handle that Melanie Hamilton’s claws in Ashley Wilkes kind of jealousy. I wanted to be wasted and book four trips abroad too. Heck, I wanted to be slightly buzzed with two domestic trips locked up.
Instead, I found myself sitting on the couch at home completely sober, with no plans in sight.
Ok. That’s a lie.
Instead, I was sitting on the couch, half a bottle in, contemplating my next drink, wondering when we were going to book that next trip.
Regardless, my actual itinerary was empty. And I didn’t need a second bottle of wine to know that needed to change.
Planning a trip is how I relax, how I find my zen, how I get my energy back. But I haven’t planned anything since the Jekyll Island trip in September. Maybe it was the bad qi left over from the holidays. Maybe it was the ridiculous marathon of work over the last five months. But no trips have been planned.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Take a sip.
I do have one trip coming up in the next six months: a family adventure to South Africa in June. Dad wants to visit my in-laws in Port Elizabeth. Granted we’ll be traveling to Africa, but it’s not like we’re going to be on safari every day. Imagine, if you will, flying twenty-four hours to visit your in-laws, and that’s really what the trip is about.
Then there’s “Suellen,” my good friend who has had a long-term love affair with Frank, I mean France. She wants to visit her BFF in London and then swim across the Channel to visit Frank…er…France. Problem? She wants to go in June, during the aforementioned family values trip to Africa. And I don’t think I’ve got enough sway to convince her to pick another month so I can tag along. Frank, how’d you like to drive me out to my Aunt Pitty’s?
So what to do?
Solution? My BFF from high school AND my BFF from college BOTH live in Boston. And their birthdays are a day apart. A DAY. That’s amazing, and it’s never been celebrated (the day apart thing, not the actual birthdays). So I’ve booked a trip to Boston…in February. Oh my god. What am I thinking? The only time I’ve experienced that type of cold was that one week in 1994 when there was a freak storm that closed the state of Kentucky.
But you know what? Two of my best friends live in Beantown. So I’m going to borrow a green velvet coat from the co-worker who booked four international trips after a bottle of wine and hope the closed toed shoes I bought in Florida keep my feet warm enough to make my way through America’s Walking City.
Then I’m going to pour another glass of wine, research some day trips on the Garden Route, and hope Suellen changes her mind on those dates.