Comfort Zone, Take Two

I will be stepping out of my comfort zone again tonight.  After nearly eight months on the West Coast, my son is flying home tonight for a month-long visit on the East Coast.  He will spend time in Vermont, New Jersey and Florida before returning to California.  And how does that affect my comfort zone?  I am the one who will be making the late night drive to the airport to pick him up.  Pick-up was supposed to be around 9:40 p.m., but a nearly three-hour delay in Reno means that he will arrive in Newark at 12:39 a.m.  IF he makes his connecting flight in San Francisco, that is.  (This Reno-to-San Francisco flight is the same one that was delayed when I took it in the fall, causing this old lady to literally run for the gate.)  Well, at least there shouldn't be much traffic on the road tonight.  Just the drunks on their way home from the bar.  I'm getting kind of used to these airport trips.

I have been expanding my comfort zone for many years now.  When I became widowed, I had a choice:  cower in the safety of my home seeking comfort in food and drink . . . or get the hell out there and experience the world.  I think you know which one I chose.  And don't think for one minute that it has been easy.  I still remember the first trip that I took with my kids the summer after Pete died.  I drove us to Maryland to look at a college.  I settled the kids at the motel and ventured back out to buy a six-pack of beer, as this was what Pete and I always did when we arrived at our travel destination.  Having made my purchase, I got back in my Jeep and cried like a baby . . . no, I cried like a widow.  The following year, Katrina chose Alaska as her graduation present travel destination.  I booked us on an Alaskan cruise, thinking that being on a boat was easier and safer than driving.  And it was, and it was a great trip. It gave me some confidence.

Since then, I've taken my kids to Germany, Jamaica, Vieques, Costa Rica, Ireland, and Australia.  Without them, I've traveled to Iceland.  I've done three extensive road trips out West.  I've ziplined in Costa Rica, snorkled on the Great Barrier Reef, seen the Northern Lights near the Arctic Circle, and moved my kids in and out of colleges from Vermont to Florida.

Comfort zone?  Home is always the true definition of comfort.  But my zone has expanded over the years and I hope it continues to do so.  Yes, I would much rather be expanding it with a trip somewhere I've never been, but a late-night drive to the airport is something that I would have been unable to do many years ago.  Now, it's just slightly inconvenient.

And once I get there, I will park in short-term-parking, head for the terminal, walk into Baggage Claim . . . and give my son a big hug!  In the zone!