Most of the traveling I have done throughout my adult life, I have done by myself. This is primarily out of necessity–it is not as easy as you might think to find a friend who has leisure time and money at the same time that you do. But in 60 days, I am traveling alone purely by choice. My boyfriend offered to go with me (even though, I think he was secretly hoping I didn’t want him to) and I asked him not to. Not because I don’t want to spend time with him; I do. But for a million other reasons.
Firstly, I would not wish the pressure of travel on any relationship. My guy and I have taken a few road trips together (which I will likely talk about in later blogs) and I know him well enough to know we approach vacation very differently. He likes to be always on the go with a plan, and I like to be leisurely, and get lost if the situation calls for it. So, inevitably, if he went on this trip with me, we’d end up fighting, and it would ruin the whole thing.
But my reasoning is bigger than that. I am selfish. Not always, mind you–I can be very generous with gifts and whatnot. But when it comes to how I spend my time, I like to make the choices. Traveling with another person is all well and good, but at some point, you are inevitably faced with the need to compromise, and that’s something that I don’t want to do on this trip. I have literally been planning it for two-thirds of my life; I’m not about to let someone else’s desires mess with my plan now.
The last time I took this kind of time for myself was before I became a mother. And even then, I remember how self-affirming it felt to be accountable to no one else while I was away. I can only imagine that since my responsibilities have grown tenfold since that time, that the abdication of them will be all the more sweet. I will wander. I will get lost, and somewhere along the way, I will find the self that I buried ages ago.