Wanderlust

It was apparent fairly early on in my relationship with Mike that people began to realize that he was, well, different. That things were fairly serious. And that he was, quite possiblly, a permanent fixture my life.

And I remember very clearly having a chat with my mother in her kitchen, mugs of tea warming our cupped hands, and her asking, "So, do you think Mike is The One?"

I smiled, blushed, nodded, and went on at some length about how wonderful he was (I'll spare you the details).

But after a pause, I looked up and admitted that there was one thing that was a leetle bit of a concern. Kath looked at me with a furrowed brow, "Yes, dear? What is it?" She clutched her mug a little more tightly, waiting for me to reveal that he liked to wear women's underwear, or he was filing for bankruptcy, or he tortured small animals for pleasure.

"Well, Mom, he doesn't TRAVEL." She looked at me, perplexed, and nodded for me to go on.

"He's never left NORTH AMERICA," I explained. No response from my mother.

"I mean, he doesn't even have a PASSPORT!" I continued, convinced I was finally communicating the direness of the situation.

In her face, I saw utter bewilderment. And perhaps a little exasperation. It seems that maybe after 30+ years of marriage you start to think there are bigger fish to fry than disagreements about where to spend your next vacation.

But for me, the issue of travel seemed very real. When Mike and I first started dating, I don't think he had ever taken a vacation. Certainly not one that required the boarding of a plane. And as a result, he had weeks of vacation time socked away. I found this completely appalling. Why wouldn't one take a vacation? Why would you choose to go to work instead of go to a tropical island, or an exciting new country, or even just a cabin in the woods? What was wrong with this man?

But as differences go, I quickly realized that I could deal with this one. And in the first year of our relationship I took off and did some pretty intense solo traveling. And I came to terms with the possibility that my big trips may be behind me.

Then Mike proposed, and as a last hail mary pass, I decided to book a trip to Ireland for his Christmas present. In my twisted little brain I just couldn't envision getting married before Mike had acquired a passport.

To my utter surprise and delight, Mike loved it. I cannot express to you how happy it made me to sit next to him as he drove our tiny, tiny little rental car, on the wrong side of the road, through the narrow country lanes of Ireland. He frolicked with sheep. He drank Guinness. He bought aran sweaters.

And on the trip I realized that Mike and I are still growing. That we still have much to teach each other. And that there is no one I would rather be on this journey with.

Oh, and also, that maybe I should keep my inane concerns to myself so as not to anger family members.    (Sorry, Mom.)