I haven’t ever been on my own. Not really. I had roommates in college, a live-in boyfriend during and after (who eventually became my husband), and a baby a year after getting my degree. When baby daddy and I separated for a little while while we both got our shit together, I still had the baby almost every night, so I can confidently say that I have spent maybe a dozen nights alone in my life.
What is an independent woman of 40 supposed to do when she wants to be alone – truly alone – for a few days?
She takes a road trip by her ever-loving self, that’s what.
In fewer than two days, I will get in my car and drive away, far away, from my family and job. I will spend most of the daylight hours in the car, but when I arrive, I will check into a hotel, grab my laptop and my purse, and head outdoors to a literary festival. I’m going to go pick the brains of writers I’ve never heard of. I’m going to listen and soak up the literary genius and the hackneyed advice alike. I am going to sit in cafés, visit a presidential library, and write. No laundry, no dishes, no papers to grade. Just me, myself, and my thoughts…along with a few thousand other people attending the same festival.
I will be on my own for the first time in 40 years, if only for a couple days, and I couldn’t be more excited.