YOU TAKE THE HIGH ROAD AND I'LL STAY AT HOME: Confessions of a Reluctant Traveler

      "East, west, home's best."  - Anne Shirley

It has been over three months since the start of the pandemic lockdown. Even before George Floyd's horrible murder brought thousands into the streets to demonstrate for racial justice, people were starting to chafe.  

I, as a person over the age of concern, have been careful.  I wear a mask when I go to the store and avoid getting close to people who are not doing the same.  


Now, things are starting to open up. People are gathering. People are getting their hair cut.  People are going to restaurants. People will soon be comfortable flying again.  

To be honest, it's the flying-again part that is giving me the most pause. The truth is I am fine with not being able to fly.  I don't love to travel. I know -- many people dream of traveling in retirement.  What can I say?  It is not at the top of my list.  Covid is an excellent excuse not to fly.  

When I told a friend I was going to write about this, she said, "But you travel all the time."  Well, I do travel.  I travel because I want to see friends and family and some of them live 2000- or 3000-miles-away.  I will keep traveling to see them.  I just won't love it.  

When I am away from home, I miss my house, my garden, my bed, my pillow.  By the end of the first week, I am thinking pretty steadily about home.  Yes.  I am a travel wimp.  

Look, I'm not afraid to fly; I just don't like it.  I don't like the crowded seating (and I am a fairly small person - how do large people manage?); I don't like sitting around the airport listening to people speak loudly on their cell phones as if everyone around them were part of the conversation; I don't like airport food; I don't like large airports where you have to take a shuttle to get from one terminal to another.  I don't like arriving somewhere by air and then having to wait in line for a rental car.  

Last September, we flew to Scotland to visit my cousin and for me to do some research for a writing project.  I loved spending time with Judy and her husband.  I loved being in Scotland.  I did not, however, love going without sleep for 24 hours (flight plus time- change).  I can't sleep on a plane. (Who are these people who can sleep on a plane?)  I did not love the jet lag in each direction. I did not love the eight days it took me to feel I was back in my body after arriving home.  When I returned from this trip, I felt that I would probably never fly overseas again.  (The Pacific NW is very far from Europe.)  Of course, as was the case with pregnancy, I am likely to forget the unpleasant parts and repeat the experience.   

And, yes, this is a first-world lament. I know there are those who would give their lives to put their children on a plane to safety.  I would gladly give my seat on a plane to someone who wishes to flee a war-torn place.  I just don't know how to make that happen, other than to donate to international relief organizations. (I am open to other ideas.)

Of course, there are places I still want to see.  At least in theory.  And I am deeply grateful that I have been to Paris and to the Alhambra. But, even when we have taken a trip in search of sun during one of our rainy and gray winters; even when I have enjoyed wearing shorts in February; my favorite part of every trip is always arriving home.  Here's the bottom line.  I am a homebody. When I cross the threshold, I want to rub my back against the walls like a cat.  Everything I love and need is here.  

Except, of course, for those faraway friends and family members.  


Photo by Gerrie van der Walt on Unsplash