Flying miles above the high clouds, sipping club soda between Fresno and Los Angeles, VST and I would begin to unwind for our journey from LA to Honolulu. Snuggling close, we whispered about all the touristy things we would do upon arrival, compared notes on expected weather, and took turns sharing the latest restaurant reviews. Hawaii was our safe place. Sometimes, I would tell coworkers we were just vacationing at the beach, a little embarrassed that we went to the islands so often. It never got old, or boring, or disappointing. The biggest reason was that VST was with me, his Hula Girl, and I was with my VST.
As a child, the thought of flying was never frightening to me. I remember going to the airport whenever a family member was traveling somewhere. We could walk right out on the tarmac to hug Goodbye. With propellers whirling, the plane holding our beloved would taxi to the runway and take off within minutes. We would strain to watch them for as long as we could, cheering and waving way after they couldn’t see us anymore.
My first major flight was with my mom and dad to Hawaii to visit a sister living there. I was in high school and remember getting up hours before we needed to leave to prepare as if it were for Sunday morning church service. Bathed, hair beautiful, new outfit chosen just for the trip, we left for the airport. No one would have thought of comfort first. It was stylish all the way. Our meals were served on real plates during the flight, with glasses, cups, and silverware. The stewardesses spoiled us rotten, and we were old friends by the time we landed. Now, THAT was flying.
For me, the payoff of adventure far outweighed any worries of possible disaster awaiting. I avoided focusing on “What ifs?” and longed to see new and exciting places. The actual plane rides were part of the excitement and a treat I was always happy to experience. From watching uniform styles change over the years to seeing airline attendants become more jaded and abused by their work, flying commercial has always been a fascination of mine.
Even after 9-11, the thought of flying to a special destination with VST was thrilling. I had traveled more than he had, living in Switzerland and Moldova before we married. He had expressed some interest in visiting Europe one day, but as the years marched toward retirement, VST’s health declined. Suffering from arthritis, he could no longer sit comfortably for even the five-hour flight from California to Honolulu. We would travel to Hawaii for our final Aloha in 2013.
VST could, however, still drive. And drive he did. Well over a million miles in our time together. For 30 years, we chose to live in remote areas without the luxury of city life. Many extra miles we shared running to town for various things. Traveling to Costco, Lowe’s, Home Depot, Macy’s, and other big stores made our odometer spin. But it gave us time to share thoughts and feelings, what happened during our workdays, and dreams about what we would do next.
Driving made us value time more. Destinations were carefully chosen with consideration of scenery and points of interest in mind. It made us truly appreciate the vast prairies and endless plains of our beautiful country. We saw firsthand the power of vicious storms popping up out of nowhere. We found rare treats like the Terry Bison Ranch outside of Laramie, where we sat out a tornado warning, or the sweetness of locals, like the owner of the Crazy Women Campground in Gillette. Driving allowed us to change our minds and reverse course if needed, just because a sign said a meteor site was 25 miles to the south.
Now, when I drive, I feel closest to VST. I think of the Wyoming plains, Custer, South Dakota, or the 1,000 lakes of Minnesota. There is something wild and rich that is missed every time one flies 10,000 feet above it all. Details like the spooked look of a startled mustang, the switching tail of an agitated bison, or two lonely seagulls spiraling together against a big blue sky over a bluer lake.
I have discovered that a car trip alone to Lake Tahoe is the best trip for me now. Walking down the morning sidewalk just yesterday, nothing was lost through propeller and engine noise. I smiled at strangers, and we exchanged hellos. I felt the breeze against my cheek and watched it ruffle the golden leaves of the aspen trees. My feet carried me at the right pace to reflect on what is important in my life. People? Pets? Family? Love? The truth (even when it means another goodbye)?
Laughing at myself for chasing silly dreams propelled by illusory sound bites, I realized I am happily grounded. Grounded all by myself for today, knowing again that I am enough. That I am choosing the right path for me, at just the right speed. Distractions of cruel words from onlookers don’t need my attention, for I am laser-focused on what I need to do right here and now. I know myself the best, and I am a force to be reckoned with.
Today, I’m driving myself to retrieve Oliver from his Puppy Camp Extravaganza. We will drive through miles of high desert, wandering with the mustangs in search of our next patch of Nevada peacefulness, always on the move. My Jeep and I are one, driving down the highway of life towards today’s adventure. Grounded, without the need to fly, I am happier than I have been in a very long time.