My Year of YES! Part Two or How I Decided to Be a Solo Traveler

I've always loved to travel.  Every bit of it, even sitting in an airport, fills me with delight.  I love going new places, experiencing new cultures.  I love the romance of it all.  But, I've always traveled in the company of others.

I grew up traveling with my family.  We flew back and forth across the Pacific.  When in the States, we would embark on long cross-country road-trips to visit family and "see" our passport country, stopping at museums, national parks and presidential libraries all along the way.  I sometimes think I've visited more of the U.S. than most people my age.

I didn't do much traveling during college other than going home to Japan.  One of my few regrets from college is not taking advantage of the overseas trips my college offered.  I could have studied in Paris or London.  I could have visited Australia or China.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

Of course, with a travel companion, photos like this happen.

Several years ago, I decided I wanted to go to Italy.  It seemed like a wonderful introduction to Europe and a great place to start my travels.  A friend agreed to go with me and really helped propel me from wishing I could to actually buying airplane tickets.  We had the best time, tossing coins in the Trevi in Rome, climbing the Duomo in Florence, wandering the alleys of Venice.  I came back with a greater appreciation for food and art and all things Italian.  I loved every minute of it.

It's easeier to travel with someone.  Generally, it's cheaper as well since you can often split room and board.  A good travel companion is a blessing, someone to share experiences with, split some costs and, I think most importantly, someone to reminince with.  "Remember when we went to the opera in Rome?"  "Remember the glass-blower on Murano chastising us about buying Chinese glass?"  "Remember asking the Japanese tourists, in Japanese, to take our photo in front of the Rialto Bridge?"  (By the way, the looks on their faces were priceless!)  "Remember watching Italy's first game in the World Cup at the Walk-a-bout Pub?"  "Remember when..."

My family has a bunch of those "remember whens" as well.  Interupting the morning poker game at a diner in Arthur, NE.  Eating cheetos with chopsticks in front of Eisenhower's presidential library.  Flying olives, swearing chefs, battered fish, a choral director dressed like a bat... all of these are enough to send my family into hysterics, remembering. 

I've had so much fun traveling with someone.  Also, as a single female, I was hesitant to travel alone.  Safety in numbers after all.  But, as I've gotten older, my friends have gotten married, settled down, had kids.  It's harder for them to save money for a grand adventure across the pond.  It's harder to find the time.  I kept thinking, I'll go somewhere soon, when I find someone to travel with.

Last fall, I finally realized, if I keep waiting for a travel companion, I'd be waiting a long while.  I want my life to be full of travel and experiences.  If I want to keep traveling, I have to go alone.  So, last fall, as I started mentally preparing for my 30th birthday, I decided.  Yes, I was going to continue traveling.  Yes, I was going to go somewhere special for my birthday.

 Yes, I will be a solo traveler.

I leave for London on Monday.

A Decision is Made

For several weeks now, I've been weighed down by a dilemma.  Something that I started with such joy several years ago is now a burden. Something that I used to look forward to each week with excitement I've now started to view with dread.  I wasn't sure what to do.  Do I quit?  Do I stay?  Do I muddle through, getting progressively more depressed and anxious about it or do I cut my losses, say "It's been fun," and leave?

Don't worry, it's not my job.  I'm still very happy there.

I thought, maybe I'm just going through a dull patch and things will get better.  I thought, I just need to gaman and it will be fine.  I thought, if I can just get through these next few weeks, I'll start enjoying it once again and I'll start looking forward to the next week.  Unfortunately, this has not been the case and as of last week, I made a tentative decision to quit the activity.  Still, that decision weighed on me. 

Was it the right decision?  I worried that I could lose friends over this decision.  Was it the wrong decision?  I worried that I would lose a part of me if I stayed.  I waffled back and forth.  Were my friends worth my peace of mind?  I was tying myself in knots.  My shoulders were so tight, I felt like I was stuck in a permanent slump.

Then, earlier this week, I recieved what I am taking to be a sign.  An email that, in its very tone and subject, highlighted, with a flourescent marker, a good portion of what I felt to be amiss with the activity and some of those involved.  I felt it showed a lack of trust and respect towards me.  The email seemed condescending.  It angered me. 

I wanted to respond in kind and let the sender know exactly what I felt.  A part of me wanted to quit right then and there.

I wanted to ignore it and pretend it hadn't been sent.  A part of me thought, surely the sender didn't realize how the email sounded.

The stress I'd been feeling manifested itself as a tension headache like I've never had before, lasting a day and a half.  The slightest thing made me want to cry.  I couldn't focus on work.

All this for something that used to be fun.  

When your body starts to react physically to stress, something has to give.  When the rest of your life is being affected by stress, it is time to eliminate the stressor.  So, I'll finish out my obligation, I don't want to burn any bridges.

But, I've made up my mind.  It's not worth it, not any more.  I am at peace with that.

And, the headache is gone.

The Stephanie Socks

I'm a fairly accomplished knitter.  Some might say I'm an expert knitter.  I've yet to find a pattern that completely defeats me.  I do not often have knitting attacks, where things go hopelessly wrong through no fault of my own (it's the yarn's fault, you know it is).  So, it came as something of a surprise to find that the sock I was knitting was not knitting as a sock should.

Sock #1 looks beautiful, no?

I was knitting the Route 66 design by Stephanie van der Linden, a very nice geometric design, inspired by American quilt blocks.  The first sock went swimmingly.  The colors were working, the pattern was knitting up quickly.  I even learned how to knit Continental so that I could have one color in each hand.

So, first sock down.  The hardest part is starting the second, right?  Second Sock Syndrome can be a very serious thing.  Nope, no problem there.  Started the second right away, it was going swimmingly, too.  Except I kept knitting the colors in the wrong order which made for quite a bit of tinking.  And, then I got to the heel flap.

I read the directions, I shifted stitches from needle to needle and started knitting the flap.  About ten rows in (about half the flap), I realized the pattern wasn't quite lining up.  I knit a couple more rows thinking, "I can live with that."

No, I couldn't live with that.  The flap got frogged, the directions got reread, I shifted a few more stitches from needle to needle and started knitting again.  I got all the way to the end of the flap that time and started turning the heel only to discover there weren't enough stitches in the heel flap.  I was supposed to have 36 stitches and instead I had 32.  I counted and recounted feverishly.  I scanned the heel flap for dropped stitches even though 4 seemed like an unlikely amount of dropped stitches (if I had dropped those stitches, I would have thought that I would have noticed them earlier; that's almost half an inch of stitches).  No such luck.  The flap got frogged... again.

Reread the directions, decided they weren't helping me this time and shifted some more stitches so that I was at least starting with the right number of stitches.  I felt like I was back in control.  The pattern was lining up, the heel was turned, I started liking the socks again.  As a reward for good behavior, I took the socks with me to Powells to meet the Yarn Harlot, who was in Portland promoting her latest book.

Can I just say, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee aka the Yarn Harlot is hilarious? And awesome?  If you're a knitter, you probably already knew that but it bears repeating.  She is awesome.  Portland was her last stop on her 10-day book tour and I know she was exhausted.  You could hear it in her voice.  Even so, she was wonderfully witty and gracious with everyone who stood in line to get their books signed.  She even willing posed for a picture with me and my socks.  These socks so owe me for that.

And, the socks finally got a name out of it.  Because they were designed by a Stephanie and photographed with a Stephanie, I'm calling them my Stephanie Socks.

So all was right in my knitting world, I met the Yarn Harlot, the socks were swimming again.  What could possibly go wrong?



So close and yet so far...



I ran out of yarn.  (whimper)

And my LYS is out of it and not expecting anymore until December.  (sniff)

After my trip to London, for which I was knitting these socks.  (grumble)

Did I just see a error in the cuff?  (sigh)

(bigger sigh)


Put the sock down and step away from the knitting.