Flying Solo (literally)

Today I am in the nation’s capital for a short getaway.  I love Washington, D.C.  (If you haven’t been, I highly suggest it.  Great place for couples, singles, families, anyone!)  I lived in the area for several years and have many close friends.  I decided last week that my broke ass would use frequent flier miles for a much needed escape.

As much as I’ve traveled over the years (independently, with friends, my husband, kids, etc.), I wasn’t prepared for what would hit me when I entered MIA.  The airport itself was fine. My check in with AA was quick and easy.  It was the damn sense of loneliness that sucker punched me when I got to the security line. 

Boarding pass. Check.  (Yes, I’m flying alone, don’t judge me, abuelita giving me the side eye in front of me.)

ID. Here you go. (Damn, I want to change my last name.)

Step into the machine. Done. (I grabbed someone else’s stuff accidentally and there was no one to laugh with about it.)

Sky rail. No problem. (Yes, take the single lonely seat usually reserved for the elderly or those with special needs.)

Board the flight and prepare for take off.  Easy.  (This is when it REALLY got bad.  Call mom to tell her I’ve boarded. Don’t text or call Grayheart because…well, just don’t.)

Actual flight. Piece of cake.  (Picture yourself in a plane crash and then wholeheartedly panic that Daddy would not knowing what the fuck to do on his own with our kids.  Write a list ASAP on important things to do for kids.  Update wills.)

Yes, all these things ran through my mind.  I know it’s dramatic and maudlin.  I’m doing my best to not act out on the cray.  I do have some sense of pride and self control.  But inside… inside I’m a flipping mess.  Squeeze me and I’ll let out a deluge of tears.  I wish I could wear a stamp on me that said “Fragile. I’m going through a divorce, please be nice.”  I feel that bad for myself right now.  (Pity party for one, please.)

I tried to analyze why I let myself go there and the best I could come up with was that this was a “first”.  My first trip as a quasi-single woman post separation.  I’ll have to go through many uncomfortable “firsts” before it can feel normal.  And, then, there’s just the plain ole reason that I’m still very sad.  I feel like I’m missing a limb.  The feeling is there but the body part (or in this case, your other half) is not.

I won’t let grief ruin my trip, though.  I will soak up the beauty of the city and the wonderful company of my friends.  I have faith and will charge through the sadness this weekend. 

Today’s Mantra:  I’m an independent woman.  I can do this.

I’ll share pictures on my next post.  Wish me luck!

(While I was weeping riding the escalator down at the airport, I saw this sign on the wall and felt it was a good omen.)

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