The girl on the plane

84 days disappeared in the blink of an eye. Now I’m sitting in my seat with less than two hours until we land, and it still doesn’t quite feel real. Even this morning, waking up before dawn, it all seemed like I was borrowing someone else’s itinerary.

These journeys are coming closer together now. Each one leaves me a little lighter, a little more certain that happiness isn’t something you stumble into. It’s something you choose, one passport stamp at a time.

The funniest part? I wasn’t even fully packed before I started dreaming about the next adventure.

This winter, the suitcase belongs to both of us. My beloved husband is coming along.

Portugal? Maybe… but January and I have different opinions about “warm.”

The Canary Islands keep calling my name instead. There’s a volcano I can’t stop reading about, an ancient eruption that sculpted landscapes that look borrowed from another planet. I can already picture myself wandering a tiny fishing village at sunrise, chatting with fishermen in my ever-improving Spanish, bringing home the day’s catch, and ending another day with salty hair, sandy shoes, and a grateful heart.

One trip isn’t an escape anymore.

It’s simply becoming the way I choose to live.