Not Going Anywhere
Not Going Anywhere
I don’t ever go anywhere. Well, not that much.
I was just talking to Adrian about how happy I am that I’m not really going anywhere this summer. Last summer, I went everywhere. Two weeks in Red Wing for a writer residency thing. A week in France. A week Up North. Ten days in Tacoma. There was always a half-packed suitcase on my bedroom floor. I felt like I was never fucking home.
This summer feels all luxurious to me. I’m only going to Tacoma, which isn’t until August, and which is my divine Adult Summer Camp AKA low-residency MFA program. So that whole vast slate of unscheduled time makes me swell with happiness.
And I guess I’m teaching six classes over 3 weeks, but that is fun. Because they pay me to talk about The Hunger Games. Who wouldn’t want to do that?
Traveling is not something I do well anymore. This didn’t used to be the case. When I was younger, all I wanted to do was get on an airplane and go places. California. Mexico. Italy. Spain. Germany. Colombia. Guatemala. Ecuador.
But then after a really hairy flight to Costa Rica in 2001, I developed the unshakeable feeling that every plane I’d ever go on was going to crash. So that made going places a dreadful prospect.
Even though I have some pretty sweet medications I can take to knock me out when I have to step on a plane, the whole process has revealed to me that I also have some natural trepidations about going to faraway places. I dunno if I need a thicker membrane between me and the world, but I get enough stimulation just walking from my home office into my crappy little kitchen. I don’t really need to go to another country in order to get my neurons to fire, yanno?
Also, I like knowing where my hair products are. And having a huge closet full of choices. All the shoes I want. All the belts I want. I hate the constricted efficiency travel demands.
And I only speak English and Spanish (I kinda speak Spanish, but only in emergencies). So I feel like a dickhole going somewhere without being equipped properly with language skills, typical monoglot American.
There are only a few places I’m interested in traveling to anymore. They are:
the United Kingdom (like, the whole thing. Including Ireland.)
Turkey (shhh, don’t tell my father)