(Image property of the author)
I returned from a 3 1/2 week European trip that spanned six countries with memories of amazing people, wondrous places, and how illness severely hampered my ability to realize so much more.
It started in southwest England. Having arrived on a flight that the airline kept messing up (they canceled our reservation twice without cause!). My travel partner and I roamed Cornwall and Devonshire in search of old family connections, quaint villages, and fun-loving, hedgerow-lined country roads. Our six days there were more than we expected, and we left with new friends and an understanding that, while British foods are generally bland, there are sumptuous subtleties to discover. I also had the pleasure of gathering with some HIVE elite, and gain a better appreciation of what that realm offers.
Then it was off to a few days around Athens, and wandering the thriving town through narrow, hilly alleyways. So many discoveries were savored with acquaintances. We exchanged impressions of our worlds over ouzo and tasty lamb dishes before hopping onto a cruise ship for visits to seven Mediterranean destinations.
And that's where I was knocked of my horse. First was gluten poisoning that quashed my partner's energy and our immersion into pleasure. The next day gastroenteritis put us into quarantine for two days, and then another day after. My partner was lifeless for four days more. I was able to slide onto my adventurous saddle and let my trusty steed of discovery carry me along ancient, walled cities and escalating hikes until we departed for Barcelona, hoping the vibrant city might reenergize us.
It did for me, until bronchial infection nested within both of us. We wallowed in unfulfilled intentions and limped back home, where it took a week for me to recover. My travel partner is just now showing signs of recovery, two weeks after leaving the tears of shattered best-laid plans on foreign soil.
Time will mostly heal the longing for what would have been. Insurance will recoup a fraction of the impact to our bank account. Talk of recreating what vanished offers hope that we will ride our voluptuary dreams once again, but the reality of aging lurks in the shadows. As humans, we often live for hope, and for when our dreams align with reality to create magical moments. But the trusty steed that carries us off to discovery and adventure is aging, too, leaving want for what could have been and motivation to spread our arms wide and soak up the wind blowing past our gallop into the future.
And thus, we feed the steed and gaze towards the horizon.
