The last time I flew down to Nassau I was with S. I held his hand with a death grip and buried my face in his chest and his arm. The time before that I was with M and the time before that….George. I simply have not flown on a plane without someone since before my children were born. After the babies came, flying or going off without the kids made me sick in my stomach. And still does! It’s as if there’s a chemical change in a woman once she has kids. The need to fly off and do your own thing disappears. The need to sacrifice and hold back becomes much stronger.
When I was in my twenties, I went many places alone. I took a bus to Montreal to visit friends. I took off to Paris to live alone for 5 months. To Greenland. To Spain. And so on. Nothing stopped me. Sure, I was nervous flying. But the thrill of being alone in a foreign country was huge for me.
It’s not that way anymore. Now, when I think of going to Nassau, I’m stressed. Are my kids OK? DO they miss me? What if the plane crashes? Who will take care of them? What are they doing in school? I worry incessantly. Travel without them is simply no fun.
I thought that if I had a man with me it would take the edge off, but it never really did. I was still in a panic. I loaded up on diazapam and hoped for the best.
Anyway, I am trying to force my mind to think back to when I was twenty. To when I was fearless, more or less, and carefree. I want to pretend I’m headed to Paris. The one place in the world I survived alone and truly loved.
OK, so I will still have to pop a pill to get through it all. But I am proud to be challenging my fears. Fuck you world! I will say. And enjoy the sun and the house and the adventure and time spent with my brother who I love very much. And despite the (realistic or unrealistic) risk of death and destruction, I am going to LIVE anyway and try my best to believe that God needs me to survive and gain strength from this experience.