megfowler.com

Well, hello.

It’s been a while since I last saw you, but my, my, my.

When we get together?

Sparks. Magic. Gallons of coffee. Mild sunburns.

BLISS.

I know, I know… it’s still a couple of months off. But I don’t think there is a single thing wrong with anticipating the deliciousness of you for as long as possible in advance.

And I’m quite excited — this time, I’m going to get on an airplane to start you off, rather than a road trip!

I mean, we LOVED the road trip, Vacation. We literally never ran out of things to talk about, and with the exception of deadly hot dogs, the possibility of scorpions, soul-melting heat, creepy men in hotels, and the people of Fresno, every moment brought us joy and relaxation.

Unfortunately, two weeks of driving was probably much less relaxing for Catherine than two weeks of playing DJ and clutching giant milkshakes was for me.

Go passenger side! Woo!

This way, both of us can have the same amount of time to chill, and we can force Eric to chauffeur us everywhere we need to go. YAY!

Eric? Is a good driver. Seriously. You should see him merge. Oh… wait. I guess you were there.

(Now, my only concern with the airplane thing, Vacation, is that my sinuses and eardrums tend to explode if I even LOOK at one, but I’ll just swallow a box of antihistamines and chew a Costco case of gum each way. And maybe scream epithets and random prayers during ascent and descent. All good.)

Really, what I am looking forward to most is the feeling of being away.

Of being warm and dry and sun-baked, like a lizard on a rock.

Of being free.

Of being separate from all the pressures and demands and questions and rituals of daily life.

Of having nothing to do but what I WANT to do, and no one to answer to but my fellow vacationers, who probably won’t mind that the beach and Peet’s coffee figure strongly into my plans for pretty much every day we’re in California.

For a non-vacation-y kind of girl, I’m getting really good at figuring out exactly what I need to escape. I assume I’ll only get better. And maybe even go some places other than San Diego (though really? SAN DIEGO, LET’S GET MARRIED.)

When we embarked on our getaway last year, I was hoping to get some distance from a long series of heartbreaking experiences that had left me raw, exhausted, and broken. I was trying to work out (not always effectively, mind you) issues with my health and my history — along with my own seeming inability to truly get past things that were holding me back.

I didn’t feel carefree.

I didn’t feel like good company.

I didn’t feel like anything I could do in the space of two weeks was really going to change me, even though I was willing to give it a valiant try.

But it did.

Oh, did it ever.

With every new freckle that appeared, I felt like my insides were shedding scars. With every goofy picture I took, I felt like my perspective was shifting slightly. With every lungful of fresh air I took in, I felt like I was re-learning how to breathe.

I couldn’t have done that sitting at home.

I’m not saying the ten months since then have been a cakewalk, or that road trips can cure anything that ails you (though I’m tempted to say that.)

What I AM saying, sweet Vacation, is that I can’t wait to see you again.

Love you forever,

Meg