The Lessons of Travel
My late husband, Tim Nettles, loved to travel. From the beginning of our marriage, we were always looking for places to go. As time went on and we started our family, we continued to travel, taking our sons to see their grandparents in Florida, as well as the obligatory visits to see Mickey and Goofy. We took dozens of cruises. Our family was very familiar with travel.
As we got older, became empty-nesters, and Tim retired, that was our vow --- to see as much of the world as possible. We took trips to several places in Europe, as well as the Caribbean. We also traveled extensively in the United States. Our plan was to visit all 50 states.
Tim died the night before we were supposed to leave for a trip to Jamaica. Of course, I didn’t go, and in the months following, I told myself I’d never go anywhere again. I no longer had a desire to go anywhere. I just wanted to hunker down.
In those raw weeks after Tim died, my friend Holly said it was a good idea for me to try something I’d never done before. She suggested camping. I tried to convince her that I was already doing something I’d never done before --- adjusting to life without my husband. But she insisted. So, we drove down to the Smoky Mountains and I went on a weekend camping trip with her. Holly has camped many, many times in her life. I had not. I learned a lot about camping --- and myself --- that weekend. Mostly, I learned that I don’t really like camping.
But the trip did make me remember that I do like traveling. Seeing the beauty of the mountains reminded me that there’s a lot to see and do out there. And as much as I wanted to stay curled up in a ball on my couch, I needed to kick myself out of the house. There were places I had to be. My son Tommy was a collegiate golfer and there were tournaments to see. My aging parents lived in Florida and I needed to help care for them. My sister insisted on a trip to a friend’s lake home in Minnesota so I wouldn’t be alone on my anniversary.
So, I went.
The first few trips by air were daunting. It was painful to see couples traveling together, just as Tim and I did. Once I sat on the aisle next to a couple about my same age. They chatted with each other and shared snacks and watched a movie together. It took every ounce of strength to keep from blubbering and sobbing as I witnessed their comfort with each other.
In order to keep my brain occupied, I read books, did crosswords, and organized photos on my phone. I refrained from talking to anyone. A simple question such as “Are you from Pittsburgh?” could inexplicably bring me to tears because the answer was intwined with memories of our life together and how that has all come to an abrupt end.
Traveling alone taught me many things. I figured out how to make my own reservations (which my husband always did), pack lightly (which both of us were terrible at), navigate unfamiliar airports alone (which was horrifying), and always carry two forms of identification (in case I lost one --- yes, that little nightmare happened once).
After a year or so, I started traveling with a companion, Robert, who eventually became my boyfriend. I learned that traveling is much, much better when you’re not alone. And we began to finish that goal that Tim and I had set so many years ago --- see the world.
In traveling to so many places, I’ve also learned:
Even with so many different ways of life, people everywhere are just about the same. A smile goes a long way no matter where you go, but patience is a must if you’re going to spend any time at all away from home.
Find out about the customs of the nationality of the country you’re visiting, and don’t assume that they’ll bend over backwards for Americans who speak only English.
Study the geography of wherever you’re going. It helps to know where you are, especially if a “conflict” or war is going on next door.
If you’re a reader, look up books that are set in the locale of wherever you’re visiting. I’ve learned far more from reading a good story set in another country than I have reading travel books or magazines.
Pack some snacks. You never know when the local cuisine consists of things such as raw duck eggs with feathers sticking out. (Robert was the brave one. I stuck with pretzels in my bag.)
Wear layers.
Always carry water.
Learn to use whatever kind of toilet is available, even if it’s just a hole in the ground.
Carry some local currency with you at all times. Sometimes the only way to use the aforementioned toilet is to pay for it.
Show respect for where you are. It doesn’t matter if you agree with the custom of keeping your shoulders covered. You’re a guest. Be a polite one.
The great thing about traveling when grieving is that it instantly made me get over myself. I’m not the most important person on the plane, or at the hotel, or in the tour bus.
And I’ve learned that no matter where I go, that first moment when I walk in the door when I get home – is a mixed bag. After eight years, it still startles me to realize that I’m walking in my house alone after a long trip. That takes my breath away. The silence in my house is deafening. After a wonderful trip, it’s like icy water thrown in my face.
But I’ve also learned, after crawling in my own bed and resting a weary head on my pillow, that Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz” was right.
There’s no place like home.
References
Martin, L. L., & Lefcourt, H. M. (1983). Sense of humor as a moderator of the relation between stressors and moods. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 45(6), 1313–1324.
