I was supposed to go to Las Vegas to visit with friends in a few weeks. I was really excited about it as I only get to see this particular friend once or twice a year, as she lives in Pennsylvania, and I’m now in Arizona. But then… one of our cats got sick, and after a really expensive trip to the emergency vet’s office, I realized I had to make some hard choices.
I also had planned to go to Alaska this year. My husband and I have been talking about that trip for a few years, and we never seem to get around to planning it. “Maybe next year” is the refrain.
For some reason, last weekend, I had a bit of a breakdown, and I realized that I couldn’t tolerate the thought of going someplace urban. I work in Phoenix, and I’m tired of buildings and blacktop. I want to see open stretches of natural stuff, be it trees or icebergs.
That’s when I realized that I couldn’t give up going to Alaska this year. I couldn’t spend one more year putting this off. I live in a suburban, quasi-rural area, and I have a backyard that’s an oasis. But I need to get away and go somewhere with fewer people. I need to recharge, and I just can’t do that at home.
The last time we’d been on a vacation was… November 2005. We went to the Bahamas, and I lost my voice the day I got there, had to cancel snorkeling and swimming with the dolphins because I had such bad bronchitis (and no medication) that I couldn’t breathe. We’ve been away on mini-trips for a few days, but this will be the first week that we’ve gone away together in a long time. I couldn’t cancel it.
So in two weeks, when we were supposed to be in Vegas, we’ll be home, doing projects here, going to see the B-52s in concert, and probably ordering in.
And in a few months, we’ll be going to Alaska.
I’m tired of “maybe next year.”