If you know me, then you know I’m one of the luckiest women in the world…because I come home from work to a home-cooked meal almost every day. These meals are lovingly prepared by my husband who also works a 40hr job just like me, yet I have never once heard him complain. NEVER. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t cook, because he’s tired or got home late, but those times are rare and he still doesn’t expect me to cook even then. Now before you start claiming him Saint Eric, let me interject here:
Spontaneity
Something you must know about my husband and I: he is an engineer and I’m a librarian. We are planners and organizers at our very core. Our coffee cup handles line up perfectly in the cabinet and our spice rack is a thing of beauty to behold. Our trip itineraries and notes are detailed enough to be travel guides. Needless to say, when we plan for a trip we probably OVER plan. This has never been a problem for us, since we both love to research and find that research in itself is a way of travelling.
I never realized, however, how much our detailed planning sometimes hindered us from being spontaneous.
Dingle Walk, Final Reflections
Reflections
We were only on the Dingle Peninsula for 8 days, but when we took the bus back to Shannon Airport it felt like we were leaving roots behind. At the Boston Airport, we were immediately barraged by news coverage of the 2016 presidential campaign (and all the drama that entailed). Eric and I’s instincts were screaming at us to “go back!” Now typically, by the time our vacations are over we’re ready to be home. But this trip was different and there were several reasons why. For one, it was the longest vacation we had ever taken and it was in a place far removed from our home and workplace. We had very little exposure to the outside world (no TV, little internet) and the bulk of our trip was spent outdoors in remote locations. The people of Dingle ran the gamut of jolly, content, and cantankerous — but they all seemed to have a peace about them…a sense that they were happy with their place in life.
Transitioning from this to our busy, grasping American life was like stepping out of a paradise directly into a war zone. I was shell-shocked.