It’s 9:00 at night and I’m sitting on a hotel room bed with wet hair, a plastic cup of gin & tonic, a couple of baggies of cheese and crackers beside me. There’s a Rick Steves special playing on my tv, something about the rise of Fascism. In this very moment, I couldn’t be happier. My world feels like it has shifted back into focus.

It’s the eve of my first flight in 19 months. In the morning, I’m heading to Cancun to explore Palace Resorts.

After finding my hotel room, I prioritized locating the ice machine, then took a long, hot shower. As I stood there under the water I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I did both. The simple pleasure of a new room to sleep and bathe in felt wonderful. Normal.

I used to do this kind of thing all the time. My son and my husband were getting pretty used to me taking off every couple of months before the world turned on its side and my travel business temporarily tanked.

To be honest, the last week has been filled with anxiety, and I find myself quite shocked at the prospect of actually boarding the plane tomorrow morning. So many of my tentative travel hopes have been dashed since early 2020 that I’ve been in denial that this trip would even take place.

But here I am, fully vaccinated, my nostrils recently and thoroughly swabbed, and ready to head off on a Mexican adventure.

I’m here. I believe in the science. I believe in public health. It’s time for me to get back out there. I’m ready.