Recently I was on vacation in Martha’s Vineyard and noticed lots of people wearing “Black Dog” apparel.  The Black Dog is a local business established in 1971 (I know this because I too now have a t-shirt with this information…) that has become quite popular on the island.  Quickly I realized is this is part of the “vineyard uniform” – daily wear for everyone. 

 And it hit me – every destination vacation has it’s own uniform…Hawaii, yupe, all the tourists wear Hawaiian shirts, skirts and dresses; in Disney – buttons, clothing of all sorts, hats…In Caribbean – braids, they only look good on 10% of the population but about 90% of woman give this a try…Boots/hats in Texas…In Ireland, throw me a wool sweater and some plaid…etc, etc…and the worst part is - I’m guilty of most these fashion blunders myself (thank God not the braids though.)  I suffer from the old motto, “When in Rome…” 

 A friend that I travel with believes this is a display of each person’s desire to bring vacation home, hence you buy the same crap.  I agree but I also think it’s about sharing the experience.  The uniform, however silly, makes vacation feel even further away from your reality left at home.  Not many of us can imagine wearing Caribbean braids to a sales meeting with the boss or how about a sarong?  However on vacation – anything goes…

  Hence you can find me buying Hawaiian music on Maui dressed in a bikini/sarong or t-shirts in the Black Dog Café for everyone in my family.  When in Rome, baby…

While returning from vacation on Wednesday, I kept thinking about Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz clicking her heels to go home.  I think I even clicked mine a few times - just in case.  Why?  Well, I’m afraid of heights - flying is really not something I look forward to and unfortunately I discovered I was flying co-pilot back to the mainland in a tinny, tiny plane…Holy crap!

 I had just spent five glorious days in Martha’s Vineyard with my college friend and we were sitting outside the adorable airport waiting for my flight.  I say “adorable” because the airport at Martha’s Vineyard appears like the quintessential New England beach house welcoming travelers, no ugly concrete or steel hurting your eyes here.  Baggage claim is a couple guys lifting a small, glass garage door and placing your luggage on an inverted shelf for you to pick up five minutes after your plane lands…Not exactly LaGuardia.

 So there we are looking out on the small airfield and my amused friend says eyeing me, “Hey, those are pretty small planes out there – I bet you’re on one.”   Quickly my eyes dart from plane to plane looking for my airline, Cape Air. 

 At that very moment, I vaguely recall some folks joking with us earlier on the trip about flying back to the mainland on “Cape Fear.”  I had a flash of moments before when I was checking in at the ticket counter - they had needed to know my weight and weighted all my carry-on bags – even my purse…Holy crap, the innuendo at the bar was now becoming all too clear as I saw the plane with “Cape Air” on the tail.  There were only five windows down the side of the plane.  Mother of God I think it only sat 10 people in all.  I started sweating at that moment. 

 Fifteen minutes later I was standing on the tarmac next to the man who was giving us our seat assignments.  He looks directly at me and said, “Co-pilot.”  What?  Is that legal?  Freaking co-pilot!  All I can think of is my husband…He has a burning desire to fly planes yet here I am being assigned co-pilot.  God certainly has a sense of humor…

 Within moments I am in the co-pilot’s seat, nervously giggling to the pilot, “I am not taking over mid-flight.  I’m sure you’ve flown a million times…Right?”  Needless to say, I am screwed.  I wrapped my arms around me lest I grab the controls by mistake or touch one of the many buttons, gadgets in front of me – just because. 

 The take off was ok.  I did not like being in this tiny plane flying over the sea.  It’s already little bouncy in a small plane, so it is not a far stretch to imagine yourself tumbling down from the sky…I kept thinking Angelina Jolie is an idiot – who the hell would choose to do this for an afternoon of pleasure?   I watched the flight time tick by on the control board’s clock and pretended to enjoy the scenery from my flying coffin.   

 Praying really began on the descent.  I tried hard to block visions of a fiery grand finale to our flight by incessantly praying the “Our Father” during touchdown.  Actually, it was the smoothest landing I have ever experienced. 

 On one of my next flights that day I sat next to a man had who climbed Mt. Everest a few years ago.  I exclaimed that was not for me as I am afraid of heights (besides the fact I don’t like the cold, sleeping in a tent for days on end, eating crappy food, risking my life to reach any summit…)  He informed me he was also afraid of heights – he did it to face his fears.

 I smiled and thought, “Been there, done that earlier today and I didn’t have to go across the globe.”  And then I thought, “But am I better for it?” 

 Immediately in my mind I heard a resounding, “Yes!” and of course, a chuckling God too.  I had been to the summit and successfully reached the other side – anxiety and all.  Some lessons come to you, instead you going to the mountain.

I leave tomorrow for my annual girl’s trip.  This year we are headed to Martha’s Vineyard.  No husband, no kids, no work, actual adult “me” time. Often, I’ve discovered during these annual trips, I see myself again. Amusingly, I witness the unique quirks of me over and over without the distraction of kids or a husband…

In my mind’s eye, I am wonderful, flexible traveler. In reality, not so much - sensitive stomach, sleeplessness due to excitement, finicky eater…When I step back and really see it, it’s ridiculous.

The dichotomy of my hopeful mind’s eye (I am a world-class traveler, ready to win the Amazing Race!), and the starch truth of my behavior (porta-potties cause me to wince involuntarily) - it is absurd.  This flexible person in my mind’s eye, well, she just doesn’t exist in reality. Do we all decide how we should be and quietly berate ourselves for not measuring up? The hum of disapproval vibrating in our minds.

I have discovered I am much happier when I operate in the world from the truth of my behavior. I am not a good traveler for all my so called good intentions, and now, I travel prepared – stomach cures, sleeping pills and power bars. I am who I am and I will not be entering the Amazing Race, ever.

When I return from these girls’ trips, I feel softened and empowered. I only go now with one other girlfriend because, well, we’re selfish.  My girlfriend and I met in the first few weeks of college. We have always been mistaken for sisters as we look, dress and act similarly even to this day. We are so much alike, yet our life choices have lead us on very different paths. She is in international law and single. I am married, mother of two and working from my home…Yet we are still sisters. 

For about five days each year we live like sisters again…We giggle, gossip, tease, re-tell the same stories over and over again, shop, eat and drink too much, and listen to the new stories each has to tell.  We have tried to include others, but it doesn’t lead to good places.  The only men we talk to are named Hector and carry trays with umbrella drinks.  We have a fantastic time.

Even with our very different lives, we are able to support each other still. She helps me access my identity before the rest of life crowded in. She helps me play and frankly, stay young.

Several years ago she inspired me to get back into a bikini…I had not worn a bikini in maybe 10 years—I was a Mom, that time had past, my body wasn’t perfect. Again, I heard the hum of disapproval vibrating within. But I did it anyway, and you know what, I looked good.

I looked around the beach and everyone was in bikinis, with all their different bodies for the entire world to see. There were no perfect bodies. Even the sixteen year olds had cellulite. I didn’t have to be perfect. Finally, my mind’s eye had softened to embrace reality. The disapproving hum disappeared, only to be replaced by the crashing of waves and laughter of sisters.