“A retreat? You must be kidding me.” you say.

It’s true, I’ve done my fair share of kidding, but I’m always kidding, and I’ll get to the funny parts in a moment, but yes, a retreat. It’s not so easy to even think about, let alone do.

I’m only asking for a few minutes of your time (or less if you’re a fast reader). I dare you even to take a deep breath and shelve all those responsibilities having temper tantrums for your attention.

It’s so much more fun to get lost in the busyness, making it our business. We’re Superman of our lives. We’re always thinking about how to rush in and save the day, put out fires, and fix things. In other words, help put on everybody else’s mask, and then I’ll be so wiped out I won’t be able to tend to my own.

Flying for the first time by myself in several years, I got reacquainted with the golden rule of travel that I had forgotten–In Case Of Emergency: Put Your Mask On First.

We bark at that, too. Of course, I have to save my kid first. At a time like that, who cares about me? But life will throw a million things at us to see if we can rise above it all and start treating ourselves with the same respect we treat others.

Been there, done that, still doing that. It’s no joke to have to travel when you feel like you’re still not allowed out in the world. My family has been taking good care of me for a year, ensuring I always get where I need to go.

On my own, would I be able to do the same?

I had to get a Covid test two days before the flight to California.

It took me forever to schedule it in advance, but I found one location thirty minutes away. Phew! Disaster averted until the day of and 15 minutes before the allotted time, I remembered while still in my pajamas. All that, and I forgot to go. (Had it been essential that the kids or Alex have it, well, I would have been the only one to remember!)

With the added pressure that I needed a test that day in order for the results get back for the trip, it was nothing short of a miracle that I found an opening. Again it was a 30-minute drive, but I made sure not to screw this one up. But I pulled up to the drive-thru and nearly kept on driving when I found out I had to self-administer the thing.

I said to the pharmacist, “Suppose I do it all wrong, and it comes back inconclusive.”

She said, “No one ever gets it wrong.”

Like traveling by myself, right? There’s nothing I could do to screw it up.

So Alex knew my state and that I wouldn’t find anyone to help me lift my bag in the overhead compartment so he suggested I check my bag.

Historically, and we’re going way back here, checking our bag on a short trip has been a sign of weakness. We’re talking damsel in distress here. But heck, this time, it made sense.

My fears were an escalator at this point. There was no way I could go away on my own. No one would know I was acting so weird because this was my first time traveling by myself since I had cancer. I haven’t done anything on my own for the past year.

Alex tried to reassure me: I don’t look like I had cancer; no one will know if I don’t say anything. That’s a big IF.

Plus, I’m aware of when that chemo brain comes back, whether or not anyone else does.

But I paid $30, checked my bag, and made it to airport security without incident.

With my luggage in tow, I stood at the end of the line and asked, “Is this the line?” only to be extra sure. I knew the answer. Of course!

But the lady burst my bubble of self-confidence, “Are you TSA pre-check?”

I should have seen the signs all over the place. So I had to go back down the escalator to the other security point on the other side of the airport.

I finally got there. Sigh. I waited in that insanely long line (even longer than TSA pre-check, and I thought that one ridiculous).

And then the security personnel made me go through that horrible machine that makes you stick your arms in the air and put your feet apart like a felon while looking at what appears to be a chalk image of a dead man. It wound around me, and the woman on the other side was waiting for me with her wand in hand. She told me she needed to check me.

So I said, “This happened last time. I know it wasn’t the case then, but it must be my breasts.”

She said, “No, it’s your neck.” She pointed to another chalk image of a person with a red neck. Presumably, that was me. “Do you have neck pain?”

Of course not, but I forgot to ask her if I was supposed to feel pain there. And now that she mentioned pain, I was feeling it in my arm again. Like when I had that herniated disc, I thought I was at the airport, not the doctor’s office.

Later, a friend explained the confusion to me: that the machine senses my body’s heat (not the silicone in my breasts). Note to self, next time, I’m not going to talk to the security guards about my fake breasts.

Yet, I ended up on the correct plane and had no worries about lifting my luggage overhead or forgetting to take it with me. After six hours, I made it to sunny San Diego, and that’s where I was supposed to be–to the retreat, at last.

Only, I got off the plane and with all that freedom, no luggage to haul, I beelined to the taxi stand. I noticed all these people wheeling their bags, yet it didn’t register until the driver popped the trunk for me. Oh no, I didn’t have my bag. So I had to retrace my steps and re-enter baggage claim. Someone saw how lost I looked and thankfully pointed me to my carousel. My bag was easy to spot; it was one of two left.

I’ve been running ragged, putting out fires (most likely, the ones I started), and I needed to regroup. But it could have been so easy at any stage of the game to say, why bother? I might as well stay home.

Whatever mind trip wanted to prevent me from getting here, I forgot all about that once I sagely got where I needed to go, I’m right where I need to be.

It was hard to leave my family, who has taken care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself, but I needed this time, not for Alex or the kids; I did it for me.

And what started as scary insanity turned out to be as welcoming as a pineapple Christmas tree. Who knew it would be cold and not so sunny in San Diego, but I came here to stop looking for all that’s going on around me and take notice of what’s inside me.