Since I was a little kid, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of traveling by myself. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to trade everything that is familiar for a solo adventure in a foreign land.
I’m about to find out.
I’m on a plane full of strangers, bound for Paris. Esteban is back at home. We’ll meet up in a dozen days, but until then I’m on my own.
After months of anticipation, this morning I suddenly — unexpectedly — had second thoughts. In our 25 years as a couple, Esteban and I have rarely spent more than a few days apart. I cried at the airport after we said our goodbyes.
I felt lonely as the plane took off and the couple ahead of me reached across the aisle to give each other a high-five. Esteban and I would have done the same. I was sad that he wasn’t there to share the moment.
But being alone also meant that I was free to observe someone else’s moment, and to experience someone else’s joy.
So I’ve decided to make that the theme of my trip: To be a quiet observer, and to share in the lives of those around me.
Who knows what adventures the next two weeks will bring? I’m eager to find out.