I’m not a big drinker. Meaning, a nice Tito’s and seltzer once a month with a meal is fine by me. I’m not a big sun worshipper like I was in my teens either. I’m not a big get my hair and nails done either. When my nails do grow long, I do paint myself or maybe splurge on a manicure twice a year. When my hair gets so long (like right now) that I look like a lovely middle-aged Midwestern woman growing weed in her backyard, I get it trimmed. (Stay with me here). I’m not a big Happy-hour gal. I’m definitely not a big “let’s gather a bunch of friends and go on vacation.”

What I am is…a WANDERER. A free spirit. A let me see things in silence, kind of person. Luckily, so is my spouse…which leads me to my blog topic: 

Traveling solo and what it can do for the heart and soul. But I could never dine alone. Ever. I’ve heard people utter these words. My advice: it takes practice. OR maybe I am wrong, and it’s just an individual’s need, and one you cannot nurture. Not sure. I love it. I love being alone. Note: by hour 48, I wanted to see my kids and kiss my husband’s face But those 48 leading up to coming home…I loved every moment. I went to Boston this time. 

In 2006 I was in Boston, but it was rainy, and though we enjoyed some great meals and a few moments of sunlight and time in Nahant, MA, it didn’t satisfy my Bostonian daydreams. This time, it did. The great thing about traveling alone, is you learn things about yourself without really seeking that information. Ya just do. This trip taught me gratitude. 

I took the Acela from NYC. It was smooth and easy, and in my first class seat, I felt so grateful that I was able to travel this way. I listened to part of an audiobook. The new Foo Fighters. I used my new breathing strategies that I learned from Judy Baker (transformational breath coach) whenever I thought I might be getting nauseated from the bumps along the way. I have motion sickness proneness, but I ended up being perfectly fine and relaxed once we ventured past New York and into NE. 

I eavesdropped on a very corporate situation next to me—a trio of friendly and not-shy data analysts discussing the culture of their company and how accessible the leaders were. In those moments, I felt grateful about knowing I was happy to be a creative who never had to think about premiums, percentages, tax, and intricate data analysis. They make a wealthy living. I will never, and I felt grateful knowing my place in the world. Sure, I am a teacher too, but again…I’ll never make that kind of money. And I am okay with it. 

During my first solo dinner at Piattini on Newbury Street I listened to the 20-somethings go back and forth about whether or not they should still attend a concert for some underground musician who they may or may not want to watch a whole stylist for…I listened to them list the other possibilities for the evening. I should explain—these eavesdropping sessions weren’t really that—their volume made it impossible to not listen. They were not private. This time I felt grateful for being my age. My 20s were fun, but I do NOT want to go back. 

On Friday I met a writer friend, whom I’d never actually met in person— on Tremont and Boylston, close to Emerson College and the Freedom Trail. 

After some silly confusion about where we were supposed to meet (all my fault), I grabbed a quick Lyft across town and found him waiting in his purplish shirt. We walked and walked and walked. In almost 90-degree heat. We talked about books, writing, pop culture, our awesome press (Vine Leaves Press), and people. We passed Harvard, walked around the river, and I felt so grateful to have made a new friend AND to feel Oh. Here is one of my people. Going through the same exact things as a newly published author. Going through the same exact things trying to set up the rest of our life as a creator in a world of millions of artists. A world where it’s so very difficult to establish a spot. 

Once my friend got back on his bus to NH, I returned to my room, showered, then found an amazing Pho restaurant where I sat and read while sipping the best vegetable pho I can remember eating. 

Saturday was totally solo. The Isabella Gardener Stewart Museum was pretty amazing. Modeled after a Venetian Grotto—chock full of Holy Mary interpretations. Then I ate at a huge Boston Food Market and read the first few chapters of a new book purchased at Trident Booksellers. I will include the link to the book at the end of this. After browsing an excellent art supply store, I headed home in the 50-degree rain—to my air b and b on Newbury. This is when I was ready to return to New Jersey. 

I rode home on the Acela the next morning, knowing I’d refueled and recharged. I needed two days of making ZERO meals or being needed. And I have no guilt about this. I highly recommend it, if you can and are able. I am grateful for it all. I simply needed space from every day life. A mini-adventure. Again, my husband is the same way, so it works. We understand each other. And most of all…TRUST. Now, don’t worry…we travel together too. LOL…but sometimes, we don’t! (Pearls clutched). 🙂 

Other than having to sit in the Newark path station for an hour because of “police activity up ahead” my trip was perfection. Perfection I was grateful for. Over and over in my head. 

In between all of my concrete events in Boston, I walked. Wandered into art galleries, bookstores. I even got a street side tarot reading. I visited the Public Garden, strolled past the Green Monster (boo), and I ate gelato. I admired all of the PRIDE flags in just about every business and church window, jealous that my town in NJ wasn’t this intelligent or accepting. 

I walked 14 miles total. 

So…grateful. 

xo Elaina

Check out the treasures I found whether in Boston or during Boston:

I am reading this novel.

My friend Ian’s novel.

My new fav song.