08/06/2020
When the going gets tough, the tough get creative…..(excerpt from the diary of a grounded traveller)
On April 12, 2020, I stood in my closet staring at my cute but oh-so-comfortable walking shoes. It had taken me months to find just the right ones. My eyes then focused on my clever mix and match ‘capsule wardrobe’ that I had assembled after pinning hundreds of articles on Pinterest entitled 'How to Pack for (fill in the number of weeks here) in Just a Carry-On.’”
I began gazing at my new carry-on bag and backpack, in which I was planning on successfully accomplishing this packing feat. I was certain I could get all those clothes in those two pieces.
I had not solved the problem of transporting my various hair and skin products, but I was close to devising a plan that involved sneaking some of them into my husband's bag. Seriously, the number of products necessary for a gal my age cannot by downsized to three-ounce containers that fit into a Ziploc bag!
I allowed myself a sigh. I mean a deep, pitiful sigh. Our dream trip to Italy was scheduled to depart the next day. In all our planning, we, along with the rest of the world, could never have imagined a time when everything would shut down, fear would replace excitement, and worry would replace anticipation. I allowed myself another deep sigh. But that sigh had no sooner faded than an idea began to form in my quirky little brain. I left my closet with a smile.
On the morning of April 13, I jumped out of bed, traded my usual yoga pants for my duly designated ‘airplane clothes’ (carefully researched). I took a little extra time on my hair and makeup. Oh, who am I kidding? I brushed my hair and put on makeup. I mean, I had been in lockdown for a month.
I wore my cute-but-oh-so-comfy plane shoes, took my brand-new bag and backpack, and rolled into the living room to greet my husband. I handed him my phone and asked him to take my picture as I posed with my empty bags. After 43 years of marriage, he is either a saint or well trained, because other than a slight eye-twitch, he dutifully took the picture and calmly waited for what he hoped would be a rational explanation.
I started by reminding him we were due to go to Italy today. Since I didn't want him to call 911 or whatever the number is for nutty-as-a-fruitcake, I quickly shared my plan that we would tour Italy virtually!
Our travel advisor, chief miracle worker and most patient person in the world, had taken our wish list and turned it into a wonderful itinerary. Each day, using it as a guide, I would research the places we were to visit, and my husband would find YouTube videos for us to use as our tour. I assumed he agreed, but regardless, I pushed on. I mean, there was so much to do!
April 14: we ‘arrived.’ To capture authenticity, I wore the same airplane clothes. Well, not 100 percent authentic since I did not sleep in them. That morning I read everything I could find on Orvieto and Perugia, taking notes in my newly minted Italy notebook.
We cooked pasta and made our first meal in Italy special by toasting with Vino Nobile Di Montepulciano, a favorite from our first trip to Italy three years ago. After dinner, we toured via video, talked about the sights we now knew were must-sees, and shared new facts that we found interesting.
Each day I dressed for the place listed on our itinerary, and one of us would announce our destination. Full disclosure: I quit dressing for the day when I started repeating clothes. You know, the whole capsule wardrobe, mix-and-match thing. Yoga pants once again became my friend. But I digress. I have never enjoyed research so much! We looked forward to viewing and discussing the videos, and we found ourselves gradually spending less time watching and reading the grim news.
We continued to worry about what was happening to the people in our world, of course, but we were more balanced and less anxious. We had something to look forward to each day, and when we went to bed each night, we discussed what we had ‘experienced,’ and what we anticipated for the next day. By the time we completed our final day of the tour, we were certain that our travel advisor had created the perfect itinerary, and we were prepared with immense background knowledge for whenever our trip would happen.
On April 29, the day we were scheduled to return home, there was a bit of a letdown. I felt at loose ends all day. Since there was no research to do, I began to think about the lessons learned.
A vacation is about a respite. Our pretend trip did not take us physically out of our home, but it provided a respite for our minds and some hope for our souls. Italy will survive. Other countries will survive. The world will survive.
I have found that hope produces optimism, and optimism produces strength. So, with hope, optimism and strength, we can get up each day, put on some makeup, get out of pajamas, and face the day with purpose, and comfy shoes, of course.
At 6 p.m., I remarked that we had just landed at DFW. With a gleam in his now steady eye, my husband, the saint, said: 'That was fun. Where will we go next?’ Indeed. I sat there with a glint in my own eyes wondering, where next? There is a whole world out there to explore and we will not let this disruption stop us.
