It’s a contradiction, I love the travels I have, the places I see and the people I meet. But I haven’t had a trip yet when I didn’t hug both my parents and cry because I was leaving home, even if it’s only for a little while.
It’s why I also travel with one single item, no matter what else I take. He is a small, yellow stuffed duck. He goes everywhere. When I drove down highway 666 through the Navajo reservation, he sat on the passenger seat so skinwalkers couldn’t get me. When I went to Key West, he was sitting on the bench watching the six toed cats. He’s been to the peaks of Santa Fe and the Pacific Ocean. He is the security blanket of this thirty three year old. He is my talisman against many things and my reminder of home. Laugh if you want, but when you travel alone most of the time, and there is no one to take your picture, it’s kind of fun to have multiple pictures of Duckie’s travels. My friends think it’s funny. I make no bones about the fact that I travel with a stuffed duck. Although I do wonder about the reaction if TSA ever decides to go through my backpack at security and I have to explain why a thirty two year old woman travels with a stuffed duck. Could make for an interesting story. But although his shape must come up on the x-ray machine, I have never once had anyone make an issue out of it. As I write this now, in the airport lounge waiting for my flight, he sits in my backpack tucked at my feet. Waiting on our next adventure.