Unpacking My January Adventure
Bundle Up.
It’s bananas, but my solo trip to a writer’s conference this month was the first time G and I have been apart since before the pandemic.
When Covid first hit, we were in a one bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale. We’d moved there planning on not being there very much. G’s job required him to travel and oversea assignments loomed. Then, well, we all know what happened.
Almost three years here in Naples, FL, we have a two bedroom condo and plenty of space. And yes, a small miracle, we still like each other.
To say I was rusty as an independent traveler is an understatement.
I wanted to be prepared for anything. Homesickness. Anxiety. What if I get too emotional and can’t participate? What if a silent migraine strikes? What if I spontaneously combust from a hot flash?
I didn’t want anything to take me out of the game.
Two suitcases, one cooler, a grocery bag, a lunch bag, a yoga mat, and a giant tote later, I was ready to go.
In addition to reading manuscripts, packing, (and more packing), I created a playlist for the drive. Sixteen hours and forty-one minutes of killer tunes. Overkill? Yes, but what pure sonic joy.
(I’d just watched Saltburn, wide-eyed and a bit aghast, and in love with the use of this song in the final sequence. Barry Keoghan, I’m still blushing!)
The hotel room had a full kitchen so I cooked almost everyday, alleviating frazzled nerves and eliminating the need to comfort myself with bad food choices.
Everyday I carried clementines and protein bites in addition to my lunch. I made a big batch of noodles with vegetables and tofu that sustained me for days.
People laughed at me for wearing shorts on fifty-five degree days, but I was cool and comfortable. No risk of going up in flames.
I packed pain relievers, Ace bandages, and face rollers, but no malicious migraine symptoms visited me.
When I needed a breather, I had a trusty knitting project at the ready.
On a free day, I drove into town and found a ramen shop. Lunch and dinner slurped up while I lazed about and watched the Australian Open. Pure comfort.
When it was my day to share my work and get feedback from my fellow workshoppers, I wore what have turned into talismans, my mom’s bracelet and my dad’s wedding ring.
Not only was I lucky enough to have Ann Hood as my teacher, I found out that she’s married to fellow Clevelander and food writer, Michael Ruhlman. Meeting both of them was pure serendipity.
When I was little, my parents recorded me talking and telling stories. I had a phrase I used a lot. “And then you know what happened?” Mom played those old cassette tapes for G, the two of them roaring at my earnest, squeaky, three-year-old voice.
Each night of the conference, I called G and reviewed the day’s activities, breathless and giddy. “And then you know what happened?”
Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I care about you. Please don’t forget to eat your greens.
Lovely piece, Kim!