The days are not long enough...
So we had a wonderful trip - four days in Iceland, three days in London, and eight days in Scotland. Nothing terrible happened (in spite of my fears, some of which were very lurid - I am very good at fears), and everything went very smoothly. We saw SO MANY beautiful places and things; I felt like the vision part of my brain started exploding when we got off the plane in Iceland and never really stopped lighting up with fireworks at any point. We ate new things, learned new words, and learned a bunch of history. The two things I ended up really taking away from it, though, were surprising to me.
First, I enjoyed spending time with my family. We were pretty much together continually for the whole trip, which is not a normal situation for us, but it worked. The kids are old enough to carry a lot of their own logistical and emotional weight, and even though they whined a lot and were super-annoying a lot, they were also good travel companions. They were curious and excited and had things to say, and when we had to slog, they slogged. We all mostly enjoyed each other's company. (Duchess said "Mom, I forgot that you and Daddy can be fun!" which was broadly insulting but I took it as a compliment. Duchess also, much to our amusement, wrote about London in a postcard to a friend: "I have to sleep on a pull-out couch, and there's no wi-fi, but it's worth it.") I was afraid that we'd come home utterly sick of each other, but we didn't. Well, at least I didn't. I feel grateful for all three of them.
Second, I thought a LOT on this trip about mortality. Apparently, the combination of spectacular grand-scale scenery, visits to historical sites focused on the lives of people who lived their little lives hundreds or thousands of years ago, and doing things that I'm sure in the moment will kill me (like flying on a plane, or driving in rural Scotland) makes me think about death. Not sad thoughts, mostly, but I just ended up thinking a lot about how brief life is, and how our lives are both really poignant and totally meaningless. I felt very small. I also wanted to hold onto EVERY SECOND.
First, I enjoyed spending time with my family. We were pretty much together continually for the whole trip, which is not a normal situation for us, but it worked. The kids are old enough to carry a lot of their own logistical and emotional weight, and even though they whined a lot and were super-annoying a lot, they were also good travel companions. They were curious and excited and had things to say, and when we had to slog, they slogged. We all mostly enjoyed each other's company. (Duchess said "Mom, I forgot that you and Daddy can be fun!" which was broadly insulting but I took it as a compliment. Duchess also, much to our amusement, wrote about London in a postcard to a friend: "I have to sleep on a pull-out couch, and there's no wi-fi, but it's worth it.") I was afraid that we'd come home utterly sick of each other, but we didn't. Well, at least I didn't. I feel grateful for all three of them.
Second, I thought a LOT on this trip about mortality. Apparently, the combination of spectacular grand-scale scenery, visits to historical sites focused on the lives of people who lived their little lives hundreds or thousands of years ago, and doing things that I'm sure in the moment will kill me (like flying on a plane, or driving in rural Scotland) makes me think about death. Not sad thoughts, mostly, but I just ended up thinking a lot about how brief life is, and how our lives are both really poignant and totally meaningless. I felt very small. I also wanted to hold onto EVERY SECOND.
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