Therapeutic Traveling

Betty White was always one to look at the bright side of things. In her book, Betty White in Person, she says this about traveling solo: “Traveling alone affords a wonderful opportunity to observe people from a completely detached point of view, and can be a great learning experience” (p. 21).

My husband and I always traveled a lot. I’ll admit, after he died, flying by myself was not fun at first, even when I tried to remember Betty White’s positive spin on it. It was extremely difficult to get on that airplane again, by myself, but I did it. My son Tommy, who played on the golf team in college, had a collegiate tournament about three weeks after Tim died. We had always attended as many of his tournaments as we could. I didn’t want my son to look across the course and see that two parents were missing, so I went.

I’ve been traveling ever since.

Because of all of our airline trips, Tim had earned a “companion pass” status with a major airline, which, of course, we used for my plane tickets. When he died, we had several flights scheduled on that companion pass. However, now I was ineligible for the pass, because the companion and the ticket holder must fly together. My travel agent tried to convince the airline that the tickets were still applicable to me, to no avail. On one such flight, I was carrying some of Tim’s ashes to a vacation spot to spread them on the beach. She even told the airline agent that Tim would, indeed, be flying with me --- in a box. It didn’t work, but at least she and I got a good laugh.

For the first year, when all my flights were alone, I sometimes sat in that aisle seat, watching couples (especially older ones) traveling happily together, holding hands. And tears would be streaming down my face. (Luckily, once the Covid pandemic started, a mask would conceal most of the ugly cry, so I didn’t scare the daylight out of strangers sitting next to me.)

Eventually, traveling alone got better, and I learned to do lots of things by myself. I’ve gotten very good at packing light, but on the occasion when I don’t, I’ve gotten pretty good at lifting my carry-on bag over my head to the overhead bin. (I’ve actually practiced lifting it at home, so that I don’t have to depend on someone else to lift it for me.)

I’ve learned to enjoy airline layovers, and even delays, because it gives me the opportunity to spend time writing and reading --- time that I don’t always take at home. I’ve also learned that when I have a long layover, I feel better physically if I take a brisk walk through the airport with cheerful music playing in my hearing aids via Bluetooth.  

The summer after Tim died, my friend Holly suggested that it might be a good idea to do something I’d never done before --- to step outside my comfort zone. I think her objective was to help me gain much needed confidence after dealing with the trauma of his sudden death, and to help me experience a change of scenery that would take me away from the drudgery of paying bills, figuring out insurance claims, maintaining the house, selling the car, and cleaning out closets.

We decided to take a girls’ camping and hiking in the Smoky Mountains area outside of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I had never slept in a tent before, and had only driven through that area many, many years ago. This was a completely new experience for me. I’ll admit, I didn’t love the noises in the night outside the tent. And I’ll also admit, that might have been my first and last camping trip. (Holly would probably agree!)

But I thoroughly enjoyed the hike and the beauty of the woods and the mountain air and even the (blessedly) brief encounter with a mother bear and her cubs. And I was pretty damn proud of myself for sleeping in a tent for the first time in my life.

That’s what traveling does. It puts you out there. It makes you see how the others live --- including the nonhuman kind. It gives you insights into how things work in other parts of the world. It gives you the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of this world. In short, it helps you stop thinking about yourself and start thinking more about how the rest of the world works. And when you stop thinking about yourself, you feel better.

In my book, Grab Life by the Bungees and 50+ Other Ways to Find Humor, Hope, and Happiness After Your Partner Dies, I describe many techniques for managing the grief that comes after the one you love dies. And getting out is one of them. Get out of the four walls surrounding you. You don’t have to go far. You don’t have to stay long. (Day trips are sometimes the best trips.) Go by yourself or take someone with you. Just go.

It’s been almost seven years since Tim died. I’ve found a new life --- one that involves a new person, Robert. We don’t live in the same city, so if we want to see each other, we must travel. Recently I was on the  beach with Robert, and we watched the sunset. It was so spectacular that Robert and I decided that we’d watch it every night while we were there. And as I gazed at the beauty in the sky, it occurred to me that people all over the world were watching that same sun. And for thousands of years back, people have done the same. I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t marvel at the nightly show.

That’s another thing travel did for me. It helped me realize that we’re all in the same boat. Not everyone has had to deal with losing a husband, but everybody’s got something to cope with. But we’ve got the same sun, providing that show for us at the end of each day, with promise of doing the same thing all over again the next day.

As this new year begins, and our old world begins another trip around the sun, there’s something very reassuring about that.  

References

White, B. (1987). Betty White in person. New York: Doubleday.