I led way too practical a life in my twenties. I decided not to study abroad my junior year because I didn’t want to be away from my boyfriend. (We’ve been together for 20 years now, surely a semester abroad wouldn’t have broken us up). A few months after graduation, when many of my college friends took off on adventures in South America, Europe, and Asia, I enrolled in law school and got engaged. I started my third year of law school as a married woman, then took two state bar exams.
While writing up decisions as a judicial law clerk, I fantasized about going somewhere, anywhere, on the globe. But my husband was a medical student, and instead of saving for plane tickets to a different continent, we put every extra penny toward his medical school tuition.
We probably should taken an exotic vacation after my husband graduated. But we’d just gotten our first home, our first mortgage, and I was three months pregnant with my first child. Two years later, when another baby came, I decided to stay home. There wasn’t time or money to travel.
Other continents would have to wait.
We put off the travel, then put off the travel, then my grandmother in India died without ever meeting my children because we kept putting off travel.
And then I decided enough was enough.
It took one more baby and 5 more years before we actually got it together to go, but we did. Seven years into my thirties, with three children ages 9, almost 7, and 3, we went to India for two weeks and saw relatives I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.
I now have a hunger for travel like I’ve never had before. Travel is not something I can bear to put off again, ever, no matter what our life circumstances are.
So Monday, I’m off again, going far, far away, living the adventurous traveler’s life that I’d meant to do in my twenties.
For better or for worse. But certainly, better late than never.
I’ll send you a postcard.