The Word Sorry

Dear plane neighbor on JetBlue Flight number 949 from JFK to Grenada: I know that what I said was sorry, but that’s not what I meant literally. As a writer, I take words somewhat seriously, so I feel the need … Continue reading



As the beginning of the summer approached, I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake. I looked at the schedule of travel my husband and I had committed ourselves to: nine days in Grenada visiting my grandmother, two days … Continue reading


Flying in the Face of Fear

It’s not as easy for me to get on a plane as it once was. I don’t unequivocally love flying anymore. Why? Because there’s always a little bit of fear packed in my carry-on. Fear: It is an emotion that … Continue reading


Hello & Goodbye

Nearly two decades ago my grandfather was dying, and we all came to Grenada to say goodbye. He ended up living for two or three more years, but every visit felt final. It was about that time that I made … Continue reading


In the Moment

I recently spent a week vacationing in Maine. For the most part, it was extremely restorative and relaxing. I slept as late as I wanted to. I made tremendous progress in my book of crossword puzzles. I took deep breaths … Continue reading


Tearful Goodbyes

So often sadness is simply the opposite side of joy. It is our feelings of affection that make for tearful goodbyes. We feel loss because we loved. We shed tears for what we’ve treasured. The hardest part about visiting my … Continue reading


When We Laugh

Family trips are a rarity in my family. When I was a young child, my parents would send me to Grenada for a month. Sometimes one or both of them would join me for a week or so. After my … Continue reading


I Love Grenada

Grenada is called the spice isle for a reason. As soon as you arrive, your nose is sweetly greeted. Stepping off of the plane, it immediately becomes clear that here even the air is well seasoned. It is a vibrant … Continue reading


A Hot Place

Grand Anse

I spent last week in the Caribbean, walking under a quasi-equatorial sun, cavorting in clear blue waters, and breathing air so saturated with fragrant aromas that I could taste it. It’s a place I love: Grenada—the spice isle. Both of … Continue reading



I love to travel. I love to pack bags, board planes, and set off to distant destinations. I love to sit in airports and read the faces of strangers for their stories.

I love to set sail. I love to cruise along as part of a city upon the ocean. I can go to sleep moored to one country and wake up anchored to another—getting a taste of this place and then that—enjoying a buffet of vistas.

I love the anticipation of travelling somewhere new, packing with uncertainty—not exactly sure what I’ll need. Weighing each item in terms of mass versus usability. What if it rains or the temperature takes an unexpected turn? What if I’m right about needing this thing or that thing? What if I’m wrong?

I love the comfort of travelling to a familiar and favorite locale—revisiting the recognizable where I’ll know what to expect and how to navigate the unexpected, always confident that I can get to where I want to be from wherever I am. I can go about packing precisely—certain of what to bring.

Travel is a welcome departure from the routine of my everyday life. It still amazes me that after a few hours of flight I can be thousands of miles away from where I started. I’ll wake in a bed that’s not my own and look out of different windows. I will not hear the same sounds of my apartment or neighborhood. New and foreign smells will seduce my nose. I will be temporarily displaced—momentarily moved to a new locale. For a season, I will be untethered from my usual responsibilities and uniquely free to do (or not do) as I please. I will journey away from myself, but I will always come home.