I’ve got a best friend in Texas who is chock-full of awesome ideas. Living in another state means I can unabashedly steal them and pass them off as my own. Currently, I am working on a project involving the ingenious method she — I mean I — created to corral and share travel pictures. Doing so means sifting though images from a few recent vacations with Boyfriend, and remembering how much I sucked during the lead-up to each trip, particularly the one we took out east.
Our first visit to Boston was, in the end, a fantastic week of awe-inspiring history, gorgeous architecture, and perhaps most importantly, cheesecake; but not one of those things, all of which had been promised and talked about with many exclamation points in the days leading up to the trip, had left me feeling even remotely excited as I packed for our flight.
Boyfriend, always up for an adventure, was delighted at the prospect of seeing a new part of the country and his energy level (which can outstrip a well-sugared toddler on the average day) was only increasing as our moment of departure neared. He had Googled, he had Yelped, he had packed all sorts of ideas and plans alongside the carefully folded underwear I had stacked with weary resignation, and not even I, the Worst Travel Companion in the World, could shake the sparkle out of his eye.
Meanwhile, if I could have generated a 104-degree fever, I would have. A week in bed with the flu sounded like more fun than having to navigate a large, busy, confusing city. I wondered if I could just send Boyfriend, and enjoy his daring travel tales from the comfort of home. I considered explaining to work that I was just feeling too spooked at the idea of having to be around so many people to actually attend the expensive conference they were sponsoring.
In the end, though, I zipped up the suitcase, set the alarm, and found myself in the car, on a shuttle, in the air, and headed toward Massachusetts.
It doesn’t matter how many trips I take; I am always slower than the average bear to recognize the benefits of travel (not the least of which is discovering your hotel is serendipitously attached by a covered skywalk to The Cheesecake Factory). My anxiety always gets the best of me — or rather brings out the worst in me — and tricks me into believing that living within a small radius is safer and will leave me feeling me happier and more secure. I fuss, fight, and panic. I start out mildly grumpy, and spiral into completely terrified. Only a stubborn determination to keep my wonky seratonin levels from winning — and the superhuman patience of Boyfriend — gets me across the state lines. And even once I am there, it is a daily battle to relax into new experiences.
But then, when I least expect it, I bump up against something so unique, so unlike anything I have seen before, that I forget to be scared just long enough to remember that the world is a wide, wandering, and incredible place to explore.
And to take pictures. That will be cleverly displayed. Because I have awesome ideas.
the wrinkled brow 