I love my family. So much, that after being stuck in a house together for almost a year and half, booked a flight to Phoenix, and spent 4 days in a casita by myself.

I drifted through days, giving strangers the absolute minimum of details in my life. 

I had coffee and M&M’s for breakfast by the pool, in my robe while smoking weed at 6:30am

I mapped out all the best dispensaries and record shops in the area, and made a small list of things I might want to do, if I want to do anything. 

I took a nap in the middle of the morning in my headphones on a patio glider. 

I drove around and took photos of things I thought were worth remembering. 

I begged local women to let me live in their casita and hire me to be their pool person.

I drove to the top of a beautiful hiking mountain because I have other things to do that don’t involve exerting myself. 

I offered to take photos of every single couple or group of friends, in hopes that solo travelers pass it back to me someday.

Did you know that you can be at a Mexican beach in less than 5 hours from Phoenix?

Yeah, I did. I found the exact remote beach I would go to. 

See how this works? This is why I tend to travel solo to places where I have “anchors”. 

People that I respect, love and care enough to listen to when I get less than safe ideas.

I am a part-time vagabond. I’m impulsive and fun. I fly by the seat of my pants. 

I imagine my spirit animal is a raccoon, because I love garbage and sleep in my eye make-up.

I’m small, energetic, wash my hands before I eat, and will attack if I am cornered.

I am a lot. 

But so is my anchor at the southern border.

This is the friend that is there, regardless of lifestyle differences, conflicting ideologies, social circles and thousands of miles.

He was there for me when I worked for a man that was clearly preparing me for toddler years.

He celebrated with us on our wedding day.

Was a safe presence after my Dad died, when I didn’t have the words but needed to be near someone who didn’t look at me with pity.

Held my baby boy when he was first born, and remembers what his eyes looked like.

He frequently checks in, asking how my family is. He shares fun facts, memes, inappropriate jokes and new music.

He remembers important details. He remembers unimportant details. 

He is an unconditional friend, and a damn good soul.

The best compliment this kid could ever do, was take time off work to hang with me. 

We did almost nothing productive and laughed 80% of the time.

He showed me the amazing world he has built for himself, and introduced me to his loved ones. 

He made me thankful, and proud to know him.

A few hours before my redeye back to Pittsburgh, I drove into the desert without a destination. I just drove until it felt like it was time to turn, and then I would turn. And repeat. Simple enough, right?

I have no idea why I haven’t been murdered yet.

I blasted music, windows down and arm out the window. I smashed an In and Out burger. I got excited to take a photo, and pulled over and jumped out of the car without shutting the door or trunk, and didn’t think a thing of it until I returned 10 minutes later, because flake. 

I crawled on top of a rock and left a few small turquoise stones overlooking a huge valley and missed my dad. 

I enjoyed ravioli and the company of an elderly, but extremely charming bartender at an italian restaurant. A dreamboat of an old flirt, making fun of male patrons and calling me bella.

I laughed at myself, because even when I have a “kid-free” trip, I seek children as much as possible, because they are more interesting than adults.

I remembered years ago, when a well-intentioned loved one asked me if I was done traveling, now that I became a mother and I smiled. 

I felt gracious for my family being so helpful with my babies, and my husband for being so kind and loving.