I floated down the aisle of the plane. I couldn’t wait for the adventure to begin. I didn’t care that the seats were crammed together and that my knees would be jammed up into my chest for the next two and a half hours. It didn’t matter; I was leaving behind cold, dank Philadelphia for bright, sunny Florida.
I flew for the first time in my early 20’s and I’ve never lost that love of traveling. A good friend of mine works in a sales position and travels more than 220 days out of the year. He’s constantly on the go, but when we catch-up, I love to hear about his experiences: the newest country or region that he’s checked off his list; his latest crazy airport story; how many frequent flyer miles he’s collected, the upgrade that he managed to talk his way into; and on and on and on.
I’m no fool and I know that travel can be a lonely grind, but there are days when traveling sounds like the coolest thing in the world. When Kathy and I retire someday, we plan to travel to a number of dream spots. Kathy wants to travel back to Positano off the Amalfi Coast in Southern Italy and I’ve long promised her a long, winding trip to Montana. (Don’t ask why? Something to do with meeting up with a young Brad Pitt from the movie Legends of the Fall.) My list reads like a small, greedy child’s wish list after he’s had a chance to window shop online or walk through ToysRUs.
To top it off, our goal is to retire to a warm beach somewhere, another bug that I caught at an even earlier age, but then there are days like the one I had last week, where I wonder why I would ever leave Southeast Pennsylvania. I went out for a run in French Creek State park, a few miles from my house, and I found a kaleidoscope of red, yellows, and oranges.
Why would I ever leave when I got this out my back door?
Discover more from Writing from the Heart with Brian
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Writing from the Heart with Brian 
You must be logged in to post a comment.