London to San Jose ponderings

I love to travel. I love mostly the public kind. Trains, planes, buses and road trips - as long as I’m not driving on my own.  I especially love the time I’m given when I’m travelling. I’m a mover and sometimes a shaker which mainly means I’m never home and never give myself a second for myself. Unless you count watching episodes of Australian Masterchef or napping in the hour between being somewhere and going somewhere.

I’m too used to not getting free travel, to making my own way, so when I get paid to travel, I find it hard to expect anything beyond economy. I’m surprised that someone will actually pay for a plane to get me somewhere.

So I’m on the way to San Jose for work. And on the way I’m not in business class (which I’ve never been in) but economy plus. I’ve discovered what the plus means. Wine.  I had wine before my meal and after and didn’t have to have my arm twisted for one more when he came round. But then a walk to a bathroom led to a run in with my steward. Another wine? Why not. And sitting writing, a wine was in his hand and then it was nestled on my lap. (a note to those who may cry abuse – he did hand it to me and I did nestle it in my lap myself).

So as I drink my forth mini bottle of wine, I muse. My ambition, I’ve realized, beyond being great at “things,” is to go to as many places as I can. I was my mom’s gypsy daughter. I still am. I can’t help myself. I don’t crave security or sameness or uniformity. Granted I may actually be thinking of getting a house and something more long term but I still like the ebb and flow of the crowd. A life of coming and going and coming back to somewhere I love, someone I love.

I asked my father advice the other day. Do what you love I’ve been told throughout my life but should I go for something secure but restrained or something fun but potentially will fall to pieces and I’ll be jobless. He said that I always land at my feet so I shouldn’t worry. He also said that he couldn’t really give me all the advice that I needed as he worked for the same company since he started working. In that way, I am not my father’s daughter.

But risk is what makes the greats, greater. I’m sure Richard Branson, Mr. Virgin himself, took more risks than I could count. But with risks, not only can you win, but you can majorly lose.  My life has been a series of leaps of faith, so taking a leap isn’t new. But maybe I’m getting older (well, yes, I am getting older as that is a biological fact) and starting to think that risk is good, but these risks should be a bit more calculated. What are the pros and cons of each choice and what is driving me to take this risk? Maybe this is what happens when you finally grow up? You actually think about things before you do them. Hmmm.

Posted via email from Oot and Aboot