Over the last few years, I’ve been employed at jobs that required travel. With one of my positions, it seemed like I was out of town once every month. Add press trips and invited travel opportunities for my blog, and I pretty much qualify as a sometimes frequent flier.
Every time I go out of town, I go through the same emotions. I’m excited to travel and participate in whatever adventure awaits me when I step off of the plane. I look up the hotel, map area attractions (and locate the closest CVS/pharmacy!), and check the hotel’s amenities in order to know whether or not to bring my bathing suit or not.
Then I get anxious. Am I packing enough stuff? Am I packing the right stuff? Wait, where is the stuff that I’m supposed to be packing. Once I get I my seat on the plane (next to a window, hopefully), I finally start to relax. Lately, though, another emotion has been creeping in.
I don’t want to leave my family.
You know, it’s just not fun for me to go away and leave them at home. Even though at home we’re sometimes tethered to screens in different rooms, or getting on each other’s last nerves, we love each other, and we love driving each other crazy. I know. Super modern professional women travel all the time. It’s no big deal, right? Well, I don’t care what folks think about me. This family, these people, mean everything to me.
I’m headed out of town in the morning and my heart hurts. I don’t want to leave them. Thankfully I’ll be outrageously busy with a packed schedule so I won’t have time to wallow in loneliness. When Sunday morning comes, though, I’m taking the first thing smoking back to my loves.
Counting down the hours…