Why Am I So Hung Up on The Lock-Down? (And a Note)***

I’ve been thinking a lot about my almost irrational missing of travel since the lock-down started, and how anxious I am to not have trips to look forward to on my calendar, and why is such a seemingly “first world problem” leaving me with these feelings. And I may have finally analyzed myself into the answer.

me at the Bronx Zoo as a kid - I have photos of me here later as an adult, with my step daughter

I grew up poor – typical didn’t know just how poor but incredibly poor. Later in childhood in my teens and such, we were better off, but still not out of the woods. I remember the first new family car – a 1988 Dodge Omni. It was a Big Deal, that $7500 brand new car. My dad and I watched as people won them on Wheel of Fortune. I remember getting reduced lunches at school. It was years after I’d moved out that my parents bought their first home.

I spent my first adult relationship and marriage in a constant state of panic. This car or that car would be in need of work, we would sometimes be so hungry we’d go visit family to say hi – in reality it was because we knew we’d get a free dinner at their home. I know what it is to pay all your bills and have three dollars in your account to last you the next three weeks. I once chipped an ice pop out of the ice in my freezer just to taste something that wasn’t water.

Travel was always for other people. My family vacation every year meant us all in the Dodge Omni, with no air conditioning and no tape deck, driving 10 hours to Maryland to stay for free with my grandparents for a few days. The Big Event every year was visiting the wild ponies at Chincoteague Island in nearby Virginia. These were trips I enjoyed, but certainly these were no family adventures to Disney or Europe or a cruise. Those were never an option.

Travel was for the wealthy.

Later in my 20s I started to travel domestically, around the US: Vegas, Sedona, around Florida, the west coast. On my own, suddenly I could drive to San Francisco and spend long weekends exploring. I could go with my friends to the Olympic Peninsula for a long weekend of adventures.

I got even luckier when my day job allowed me to travel for work occasionally.

The first Big Trip I ever truly took, I actually won that trip in a photo contest. All my years of work and play and struggling to get ahead, and suddenly I’m sitting on a beach in South Korea, on a tropical island in the East China Sea, crystal clear water, white sand, basalt cliffs behind me. Seemingly incongruous windmills above, spinning over the sparkling pools of the resort where I was staying.

*Jungmun Beach, Jeju-do, South Korea, before the jellyfish got me*

And I looked into the water at my (now husband) lawyer boyfriend snorkeling I burst into tears because this was a taste of a life I had never known. The passport, the business class flight, the resort, the adventure, the excitement. I felt so incredibly lucky, like I had finally become someone I had always wanted to be. Just to remind me that I wasn’t too big a deal, I got viciously stung by a jellyfish in those waters. The universe bitch-slapped me and said, “Not so fast, lady. You WON your way here, this was luck.”

Luck would continue to be on my side, as I was hired to shoot a wedding in Mexico a year later. And I went to Mexico with my partner and one of my best friends and we arrived and it was hot, and it was humid, and we had this great airbnb in a small town, it overlooked the pool and the sparkling turquoise water, and we threw down our bags and ran to the beach and found a beach bar, and we sat on swings drinking cold beers watching the sunset. We wandered down the street and ate at a local restaurant, table and chairs in the street, stray dogs at our feet, a local musician playing while we gorged ourselves on food. And once again I thought, “I am so damned lucky.” That week we would swim underground, we would climb pyramids, we would fall in love with Mexico.

*sailing on the Bay of Banderas over a Friendsgiving adventure - 13 of us!*

And every year since I have managed to stamp my passport. Every year since that lucky trip to Korea, I’ve gotten at least one stamp. One year I got to stamp it twice – an incredible adventure through Chiapas and Tobasco Mexico, with friends happily bumping along in the backseat for the crazy ride, and then a big group trip – 13 of us for a week for “Friendsgiving” on the west coast of Mexico.

Last year I turned 40. In my 40th year my husband and I first celebrated buying our dream home. And I managed to plan a huge week in Mexico with some of my closest friends and family. I was able to buy a plane ticket and cover some of the costs for my step daughter and her partner to come with me, and see why I love Mexico and travel so much. Lifelong friends, many like family, came from all over the US and put their trust in us and take an adventure. A dozen of us sailed on tropical waters, ate till we burst, toasted at crazy dinners. We had magic performed at our table one night, we climbed pyramids and played drinking games and roared with laughter when a giant locust jumped onto my camera.

Months after my trip to Mexico, I was hired to shoot a wedding in Hawaii. I traveled again with my husband, the girlfriend who I’d first been to Mexico with, and her husband – we love them like family. Suddenly we were transported from our tiny urban farmstead to a tropical island, and we had incredible food at a local brewery and toasted to Hawaii. Our first afternoon we swam with sea turtles. Later I’d swim with manta rays under a full moon. The bride’s father hired traditional dancers as a surprise, and without even having to go to a luau, we sat so close to the flames we could feel the heat. It was so incredibly special and memorable.

And then 2020 happened.

And someone somewhere keeps asking, “How can things get any worse?” and the universe keeps on showing us. Cities are closed, airplanes are mostly empty, we wear masks everywhere we go. We haven’t hugged a friend or been to a bar in months. No bowling. No leisurely shopping.

And the thing is, I am safe. My husband is safe. My family is safe. We have our careers, and are the lucky people who get to work at home and still get paid. We have our health insurance, and our health. The pandemic has been happening around us, but we have been spared from the worst outcomes. I am keenly aware of our privilege. I am also incredibly aware of how even a dozen years ago, I too would have been in a very precarious position if the lockdowns were happening.

I have lived in poverty, and I have hovered at the poverty line for a long time, I know how one paycheck can be the difference between making bills and digging for spare change to buy generic pasta. I have been some dark places, and so deeply appreciate my opportunities and good fortune. I own a home and my dream mid-life crisis car through a series of fateful decisions, good connections, and otherwise dumb luck. There was no “bootstrapping” here, this was smarts and knowing the right people, advantages I have been given, and a great deal of luck.

I still have struggles such as health concerns, and grief. I own my dream home, but it’s a matter of time before its roof fails. Our dream came with strings attached - namely its need of renovating – but we’re still lucky to have it. My struggles are still very “first world problems” as they say. And knowing how it is to live with less-than, I know all too well how spoiled I am today.

But whatever else has happened in my life, these past few years travel has been a bright spot. I get, for a week here, or ten days there, every year, to escape. No alarm clocks, no pressing needs, no work emails, no waking up and feeding the pets and dealing with chickens and laundry and all those daily obligations we all have. Just time with my partner, with my closest friends, somewhere really magical.

Vacation is still something very special, and extravagant. It’s not a guarantee, it’s a treat. We save, we plan, we hire house/pet sitters, all so for a few days we can pretend like we are The Elite. It has been such a change in my life, having these trips with friends. It’s something I think about daily, I crave, I plan with excitement, I pour over the photos, a trip is something I look forward to with so much delight I practically vibrate.

So now, going without, reminds me of the days Before. Before I had success. Before I had predictability. Before I had consistency. Before I had time. Before I had a little extra money. And it fuels that anxiety all over again for me, irrational or not. I miss travel because it reminds me of days when I had less, of days of stress and sickness and worry. I miss the freedom of sitting with some of my favorite people somewhere beautiful and for a few precious days just existing without the worries of the world or my daily life on my plate.

So if I seem irrationally upset about travel, I am definitely upset about travel. But when I dig down and consider why, it doesn’t feel quite so irrational anymore.