Go

For the past few months, I have often fantasized about a Delta flight taxiing down a north-bound runway, cruising over downtown Los Angeles, and then making a wide right turn over Pasadena. I picture our faces pressed to the window, our coffeepot and salad bowls safely aboard, as we say good-bye and turn our hearts toward home.

This is not to be.

The plane is going to make a left instead. We are due in Honolulu on July 16.

For 20 years, Matt has worked at Disney. His farthest relocation was from an office in Celebration to another office near EPCOT.

For 30 years, I lived in Central Florida. I moved now and again, but never more than a zipcode or two.

We fell in love, hit mid-life, and suddenly, we are on a journey neither of us could have imagined. We may possibly be the only two people on the planet to be sad about a 13-month stint in the midst of Pacific paradise.

Family, friends, Summit … we love you. We miss you. I’d like to say we’ll see you next year. But I have stopped pretending I know what’s next. I don't know much, except this:

Where Matt goes, I go.