The Trip Before the Trip

Anticipation - my sleepless gift!

Anticipation

I’ve been thinking about anticipation lately.

Not just the excitement of looking forward to something wonderful, but the way anticipation colors so much of our lives.

Sometimes it arrives as joy, hope, and eager expectation. We count the days until a vacation, a wedding, a reunion, a new baby, or a long-awaited dream.

Other times, anticipation feels very different.

It shows up as a knot in our stomach, a vague uneasiness, a feeling that something is coming. We may not know exactly what it is, but we sense it. Call it intuition, a hunch, a presentiment, or simply a feeling in our bones. Most of us have experienced moments when we knew something before we knew it.

As I prepare for Paris with my granddaughter, I find myself living in anticipation.

Part of me is excited beyond words.
Part of me is already missing the trip before it has even begun.
Part of me is worrying about things that may never happen,

while
another part is savoring every delicious moment of looking forward.

Perhaps anticipation is one of life’s greatest teachers.

It reminds us that we are always standing between what has been and what is yet to come.

It asks us to trust the journey, embrace the uncertainty, and enjoy the sweetness of expectation without rushing ahead to the ending.

After all, some of life’s greatest joys don’t happen when we arrive.

They happen while we’re looking forward.

The Trip Before the Trip

I woke up at 2:50 this morning.

Not because I was worried about anything in particular. Not because I was sick. Not because of some emergency.

I woke up because my mind has apparently decided that if I’m going to Paris next week, I should begin the journey immediately.

The funny thing is that I’ve spent weeks planning this trip.

The flights are booked. The hotels are booked. The train is booked. The reservations are made. I’ve researched restaurants, museums, transportation, tipping customs, phone plans, weather forecasts, and whether I can bring a folding stool into Versailles.

At this point, ChatGPT knows more about my trip than some of my family members.

Yet somehow, instead of feeling finished, I feel like I should be doing more.

My clothes are spread out all over the house. Toiletries have taken over the bathroom counter.

Every day I think I’ve packed everything I need, and every day I remember five more things. Yesterday it was compression socks. Today it’s adapters and chargers. Tomorrow it will probably be something equally essential that I have somehow survived seventy-nine years without.

Meanwhile, real life refuses to take a vacation just because I’m going to Paris.

Blue Cross still owes me money. The papers need attention. The bills keep arriving. My home is covered with little piles of things that all seem important, and every one of them would like my immediate attention.

The irony is that none of this is bad news.

In fact, the biggest thing on my mind is something wonderful.

Maisie just turned sixteen. I just turned seventy-nine. In a few days, I’ll meet her in London, and then we’ll take the train to Paris together. Even writing those words makes me smile.

As I lay awake this morning, I realized that part of me doesn’t want the anticipation to end.

There is something magical about looking forward to something.

The planning, the imagining, the dreaming, and the wondering are all part of the experience. Right now, Paris still exists mostly in my imagination. I can picture us walking through the streets, sitting in cafés, looking up at the Eiffel Tower, and laughing about things neither of us can predict.

Soon it will all be real.

And then, before I know it, it will be a memory.

Maybe that’s why I keep checking my lists. Maybe that’s why I keep researching one more restaurant and asking one more question. Some part of me is trying to hold on to this sweet season before the trip begins.

At seventy-nine, I am increasingly aware that life is made up of seasons.

There were years when I was raising children, years when I was building a career, years when I was caregiving, years when I was grieving, and years when I was simply trying to get through cancer treatments and difficult times.

This season feels different.

This season feels like a gift.

I think about Pete. I think about Dana. I think about the many people I have loved who didn’t get another birthday, another trip, or another chance to create a memory with someone they love.

And then my racing mind softens a little.

Because beneath all the planning, all the lists, all the expense, and all the logistics is something much simpler.

Gratitude.

Gratitude that I am healthy enough to go.

Gratitude that Maisie wants to spend this time with me.

Gratitude that there are still adventures ahead.

Gratitude that at seventy-nine years old, I can still get so excited about life that I wake up at 2:50 in the morning thinking about Paris.

There is beauty in looking forward.

Not every sleepless night is a problem to solve. Sometimes it is simply gratitude trying to get our attention.

The truth is that not everyone gets another trip, another birthday, or another chance to make a memory with someone they love.

I do, thank God.

And maybe that’s what was keeping me awake.

I’d love to hear from you. What are you anticipating these days?
What trip, celebration, milestone, or dream
is bringing a little excitement into your life right now?

Please tell us in the comments.
Joy shared is joy multiplied.