Travel Courage

I’m not much of a traveler. I get hit with fear; it feels like a sledgehammer pounding out the creases in my forehead. I worry about loosing my passport, catching the flu from germs on the plane, making a fool out of myself in a foreign country and ending up in jail. The list, ridiculously long, goes on forever.

Both my children, well versed in travel, did not inherit my traveling jean. In fact, my daughter spent her senior year as an exchange student in Thailand, and both kids spent time in Mexico and California with relatives.

Nik, my son, had a courage that astounded and delighted. After he died, I decided to act more courageously in his honor. So when four girl friends invited me on a 2.5-week trip to the Mexican Caribbean, I stuffed all my fears in a vintage suitcase, and placed it on the top shelf of my closet, where I can’t possibly reach it.

We swam with the turtles, fished, and ate ceviche, tamales, and fresh corn tortillas. We walked along the creamy sand that stretched across our horizon, mingled with the tourists and the locals, snorkeled, and danced in the waves.

Thank-you, Nik, for lending me your strength and your courage; I miss you everyday.