When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. In my case this means crying hysterically over the brightly colored citrus fruit for 4 months and then spending your life savings on a trip to the other side of the globe in the hopes that this makeshift vision quest will cure you of your blues and begin to heal a broken heart.
Now, when one reaches the level of devastation in which I have been living the past handful of months - the type of low where, when asked by the barista at Starbucks how you are today - you actually tell them - people are concerned. These concerned people offer shoulders to cry on, distraction from reality, and advice. This advice comes in all shapes or sizes and, depending on mood, delivery and the alignment of the planets can be received with the open mind and heart, in which is was likely intended, or illicit the reaction of a petulant teenager, meaning simply don't tell me what to do!
A combination of well meant suggestions and endless inner dialogue has resulted in my current position, in row 69 on a lux Qantas jet seated next to a good friend and fellow wander luster. 4 hours in to our 2 day journey down under I have already consumed a bag of Skittles and watched 2 in flight films, so so far I'd say it's going pretty well.
Of course, a myriad of options (in terms of a remedy for my funk) were presented to me by these well meaning confidants without whom I would not have been able to experience that short part of a romantic comedy, where the girl cries and eats Ben and Jerry's with her girlfriends. Traditionally, these scenes are immediately followed by some grand romantic gesture and a montage of falling-in-love clips set to adult contemporary classics. With no Peabo Bryson or Gloria Estefan on my own personal play list, I had to make a change, and all signs (and advice) seemed to lead to two possible solutions: Australia and antidepressants.
The fascination with the former took shape while studying Ayers rock and singing songs about the kookaburra in Mrs Sage's second grade class, so it seemed like a great idea when Jackie suggested we take our now annual trip to Australia, one of the most expensive destinations on the planet! No longer possessing the ability to become excited this was the closest I was getting and I had to carpe diem the damn thing.
Feeling decidedly less enthusiastic about the latter suggestion I went so far as to fill a prescription of little blue pills that were immediately deposited in the bottom of my bag, where they have remained for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that no matter how far I am from the motherland, melancholy Irish blood courses through my veins as much as Dominican memories cloud my thoughts.
There is no telling how this little self imposed social experiment will turn out. Hopefully, along the same lines as said romantic comedies, I will have my own montage of international happy moments and all of my problems will be solved in 90 minutes, or as the case is here, 4 weeks. Skeptical by nature I'm not convinced, but hey, it worth a shot.
So stay tuned- at least the photos should be pretty!
