Our time together has come to an end.  As I write this, I am 1600 miles from home.  Currently we are over open water and approaching the coast of Newfoundland.  I find that funny considering we just saw Come From Away.  

Gram looked at her lot in life and dared to chose a different path.  Giving up everything and everyone she knew, she boarded a ship for a world alien from her own, not even speaking its language.  She made a life in the new world.  She raised her children to be tough, and tough they were.  My grandmother, Gram’s daughter, Jennie (we called her Nonna, which is Italian for “grandmother”) dumped her alcoholic, unfaithful husband and opted instead to go it alone.  My mother, Nonna’s daughter, left her husband, my father, with two grand to her name.  She alone put me through college (out of state, I will add) and ventured out to become the successful and confident woman she is today.  You all should watch how she negotiates for her clients, a far cry from the woman who never thought she’d do anything but teach English to middle schoolers.  My legacy is that of strong women, with, admittedly, poor taste in men.  

It occurs to me that, now, it’s my turn to choose a different path.  I recently left my job.  It wasn’t an easy decision, I’m still bummed about it.  I loved what I did and who I worked with.  The decision was multifaceted — all major course corrections in life are — but one reason was that I’ve known for awhile no future existed at my current post.  Much like Gram, Nonna, and mom knew there was no future with their unsatisfactory spouses. I knew the first day back from the Rio Olympics that I could do more, that I should do more, that I was capable of so much more. I enjoyed the perks of my cushy gig, where little was ever asked of me and I got a lot of paid vacation.  But I knew, and my mom knew and my wife (another strong woman who dared to go a different path) knew too.  

RBD gets so frustrated with me because I always joke, “I belong in the kitchen,” or, “I will always be the help.”  Between us, it’s safe in the kitchen.  It’s safe with something familiar and known, even if acutely unsatisfactory. And while Mina, Jennie, and Dianne faced actual peril, like homelessness or bankruptcy, I don’t.  My safety net is thick; I am a privileged white male living in NYC.  Their difficult choices ensured I would have that privilege to reimagine my place in the world if ever choose to.  All I can think now is, Well, you’d better not waste it.  To accept less feels somehow insulting to them and their stories.   

Gram died in 1978.  She never met me.  She spent the last 18 months of her life in a home, suffering from dementia.  I’m not sure she “suffered,” per se, she didn’t really know where she was. She had sold the farm several years earlier.  She was a tough lady till the end.  Nonna, also stubborn as they come, died about 12 years later from lung cancer.   Alma and Monroe, Mina’s other two children, lived to ripe, old ages before passing.  Mom currently naps next to me, filled with wine and Amaretto.  In three hours we will go our separate ways, her to Raleigh and me to dinner with RBD.  Monday will dawn, and the task of reimagining my next chapter will begin. 

Thank you to all for coming along.  Thank you for your notes back to me and being interested in what I have to say.  Means a lot.  Sadly, we will not be going to Paris or Barcelona this Fall.  RBD and I plan to celebrate her 40th birthday in Blowing Rock, our favorite mountain town this side of the Mississippi, investigating our rental property options.  Ever the practical one, that girl.  Why spend money on a trip when you can invest in your future!?   

Thank you to Dianne and RBD for their editing help.  More pictures will be available on my website in a few days and on Facebook.  If you’d like one, let me know and I’d be happy to send a copy. 

I don’t know when we’ll meet again actually.  For the first time in awhile, no major, upcoming trips are planned.  However, I look forward to us crossing paths again.  

Until then, be well.