Vacating the Premises

Five summers ago, I was knee deep in planning an October trip to Italy that fall.  My planning--which I'd started at least a year before departure--was surprisingly elaborate for a person who imagines herself to be fairly flexible.  But I happily swam in all those details. From studying train tables to chasing down great rentals-by-owner,  I enjoyed the planning almost as much as I enjoyed the trip itself (okay, that's a lie, but it was lots of fun!).  So, I'm curious why it is that I have approached my upcoming UK trip--a trip whose kickoff is in a handful of days--with such a casual attitude.

I have no idea what changed between then and now.  Is it me?  Have I grown--gasp!--blase'?  Or maybe it is the lack of a language barrier on my upcoming trip (although I've been told that English in Edinburgh is no more understandable than Italian in Vernazza).  Another explanation is that I'm in "avoidance" mode, knowing that, if I go on this trip, I inevitably will return to a house teetering on change, since the two young adults living in this house are anxious to write the next, Woods Avenue-less chapters of their lives just weeks after I return.  My inclination is to side with the common-language explanation, because I never, ever want to be blase' about life, anymore than I want to get in the way of my children's futures.

Fortunately, yesterday--rainy, unscheduled, slow-as-taffy yesterday--was the perfect day to gleefully lose myself in the unglamorous details of my upcoming vacation.  My heart rate goes up when I eye the growing pile of vacation paraphernalia that has gathered across the room from me.  Is it weird that the sight of miniature bottles of shampoo, hand sanitizer and lotion gets me kind of jazzed?  Maybe I should have been a model-train enthusiast. . . .

And, really, why wouldn't I be a different person than I was five years ago?  More confident about international travel, less concerned about bringing only carry-ons, even a bit defiant about the TSA and its 3-ounce pat-down dance,  I'm no longer a slave to the unknown, certain that I can make it up as I go.  Or at least, pretend enough to get by.

Ultimately, then, I approach this trip with more confidence--and a rapidly dwindling savings account--knowing the UK holds myriad adventures, ale-tinged giggles, awe-inspired silences and a shockingly blank slate of promises that there is no such thing as wasted moments when you are exploring the larger world.

Bring it on!