One of my college roommates used to say my name like it was a question. "Nancy?" Then she’d shake her head and pronounce with some finality, “You’re a trip.” I’m pretty sure she meant I was a head case. But head cases like to take such sentiments as compliments. So I always grinned when she said it, which tripped her out even more. Anyway the point is, my plan for this blog is to embrace a broader definition of "trip" ... one in which you don't have to go to Paris or stalk Ngorongoro's finest to take leave of your everyday life. One where a simple journey to the grocery store can turn into an adventure.
Part of the reason for this is practicality. While I would fully embrace a life in which I could wake up in a new destination every week, my trust fund doesn't kick in until, well, never and I'm just not that good at grifting; I'm quite bad at it actually. So while I do plan to visit exotic locales from time to time and interview others who have done so as well, I must warn you that, at times, the trips I take you on may be more figurative in nature.
This morning at the gym I shared my thinking on the subject with my trainer, Chris, which wasn't so bad until I made the mistake of citing a trip to the grocery store as an example. "I'd like to see how you think a trip to the grocery store constitutes travel," he replied, emphasizing the word grocery. And despite the fact that my brain had been drained of blood in an effort to give my legs the oomph they needed to complete an insane number of squats, I actually found myself attempting to choose from among several ways to respond.
First of all, we live in a ski town. Where better than the grocery store to witness the clash of cultures that makes travel so enlightening? Quite honestly there are few places on this earth where you can you see Venezuelans, Texans, Anglo-Saxons, and Minnesotans bond over the availability of organic spaghetti sauce. Secondly, it's snowing and by snowing I mean a late March, thick, wet, snow that whips in the wind and makes your hair fly into your mouth. I only live a few blocks from the market but any writer worth her salt can surely make that journey into a white knuckled ride, especially with all the tourists who come from places where a red stoplight means, "Hey, look at the snow!" Then there's the foreign foods aisle, great travel blog fodder there. And the Sudanese gentlemen checkers; I'll bet they have quite the story to tell. I could go on but my legs are tired. So I'll leave you with this: every day of your life can be a trip. You just have to choose to see it that way.