Maybe I fly because I need to.

A few months ago, a friend mentioned that since James and I don’t have children, we’re free to take these amazing trips—and isn’t that just wonderful? Maybe. I started to write this post in response:

Tolkien wrote that “not all those who wander are lost” though sometimes I do wonder if I’m looking for something.

This year we’ve taken a break from Europe to save a little money and relived my childhood in the Outer Banks. James had never been, and it had been 10 years for me.

From our home base in Duck, we visited the Wright Brothers Memorial, climbed to the top of the lighthouse at Cape Hatteras, took a stroll on the white sand beaches of Corolla, and left plenty more to do on our next trip.

James loved it so much he was ready to book the house again for next summer.

And… I’m going stir crazy for Europe. We’re currently planning our 2017 trip to the Mediterranean.

People comment that thanks to our infertility we have this awesome ability to travel. Maybe it’s true, but really, what do they mean by that? Would they really trade their own children just for a chance to fly across the sea every few years? It’s not like we live some glamorous life as jet-setters.

Maybe travel is my rebellion.

Maybe I fly because I need to. Because of grief. Because of pain. Because there is such a big world out there, and maybe if I search wide enough, I’ll find what we’re looking for.


Throughout my life I’ve often had this image of myself in the future as a grief-hardened and fearless Diana, sailing around the world with her pack of hounds, running from the hole in her heart and searching for her next escape.

Never mind that Diana was a land-based goddess, not a nautical one. But you know, teenage Connie Ann had an imagination.

I was wondering quite a bit, while writing the above, if I was indeed lost. I don’t think I am lost anymore, or at least, I don’t mind if I am. Still…

“Maybe I fly because I need to.”

Maybe I fly because for as long as I can remember, I can’t bear to live in a world where there is a London/Rome/Paris/Athens/you-name-it and I haven’t actually seen it.

The first time I set eyes on Europe from the tiny window of my airplane, I cried.

I cried because it was real. There was this place I had heard of so often, and it was actually there, waiting for me all this time.

It was almost sacred, like a pilgrimage. I wasn’t fasting and praying and crawling on my knees to get there, but travel is sacred in its own way. God made this big, beautiful world, and even though he (and the world) is much too vast for me to ever understand, seeing more of his creation helps me to understand a piece of him.

How amazing is it that you can be 3,000 miles from home, yet everyone looks like your cousins? How amazing is it that you can be in a place where no one understands your religion, but everyone understands your smile?

How amazing is it that after spending only a week in a country where no one knows your language, all of a sudden you bump into another American, and it doesn’t matter that she’s a democrat or a republican or an atheist or a Jesus freak—she’s an American. And right away, you’re sisters, you’re friends, because no one else in the room knows about buffalo wings and George Washington and Saturday Night Live and amber waves of grain.

I haven’t traveled very much, and I haven’t lived very long, but I’ve done both enough to know that my life has been better for it.


12 thoughts on “Maybe I fly because I need to.

  1. Love this post. I have travel in my blood and I have constantly sought travel to heal much of the grief that surrounds my infertility.
    In my case travel bought my husband to me and subsequently we met our surrogate and finally our daughter. Never underestimate the power of travel, new relationships and seeking solace in places unknown.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. Travel really is great for healing, isn’t it? I went to Rome for the first (so far only) time right after the end of a 2 year emotionally abusive relationship, and it was amazing. It made me feel like myself again. When I came home, I met the awesome man who became my husband.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. It’s interesting how “great” our lives are, because of how “free” we are. I’m with you. There is something mystical in travel and finding out the truth of existence of far off places. Travel will never make up for the grief of not being able to have family. No one with kids would trade them for a trip anywhere in the world. But it’s not about the trade offs. It’s about living the life that you have.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. So true and beautifully said- it’s about living the life you have. We’ve only got one, and if we don’t spend ourselves entirely, what other meaning is there.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. People are really rude for what they say to you. Infertility is not a boon or anything. But the way you explained that feeling you get when you travel, it was really beautiful and on point!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you! I think a lot of people don’t realize what they’re saying, or maybe can’t grasp how serious it is. I do wish it was better known and better understood what to say and what not to say.

      Liked by 2 people

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