Plane truth

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Another week, another milestone, it seems. I’m headed West today, all the way to the Left Coast, on a business trip. My first one ever.

Yes, you read that correctly. Nearly 46 and never been in business class. I am not much of a traveler, even by car (I still need to ride in the front and focus on the horizon).

We only took a couple of vacations when I was a kid. One has the distinction of being family lore, since it involved the theft of our tires shortly after we checked in to our motel, the return of our tires from the police evidence locker and my father’s bat-out-of-hell ride home overnight where we scared the heck out of my grandmother at 5 am.

And now that I’m an adult, well, our trips are modest, infrequent and not too far away. Although I did fly once in college, to visit my friend at American University.

It’s ironic given the years I spent compiling the Travel section at The Advocate/Greenwich Time where I worked for years in the Features department. I guess you could say I don’t travel much, but I read about it. I am the original accidental tourist (with apologies to Anne Tyler).

Anyway, I learned last weekend that I would be making this trip. Thank goodness there’s an abundance of work to focus on and keep my mind off the white-knuckled anxiety that continues to build. After all, this isn’t like my November trip on the wrong subway, where I could simply cling to the pole until the next stop.

I just keep reminding myself that people do this. Every day.

Meanwhile, I think I have everything I need, and have left everything in order. We’ve arranged Skype accounts so Basil, Catherine and I can hopefully talk each day, and I’ve left long, copious notes about what’s to be done when.

I haven’t even left yet and already I’m missing them.

Of course, scarier than facing the friendly skies is the notion of what this house is going to look like when I return next Tuesday night!