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I’ve never planned a trip so extensively as my recent trip to Spain.

I’ve never traveled with just Sister E.

I’ve never flown within a European country.

I’ve never visited a historic site that’s still in the process of being built.

I’ve never tried to navigate a color-coded metro system using a black&white printout.

I’ve never had a “local” friend before.

I’ve never had a European cell phone nor felt like such a hardcore, take charge spy when I used one.

I’ve never overlapped vacations and managed to make the most of the 5 hour overlap before.

I’ve never had food poisoning abroad.

I’ve never had a bus driver acknowledge me and then keep on driving abroad. (Oh, but I’ve had this done in the US.)

I’ve never bought walking sandals the day before vacation and had them not give me blisters. (I could have worn those babies all day and all night.)

I’ve never been not nervous when solo navigating my way around a large (or small) European city.

I’ve never studied people so hard trying to find and follow the tourists to the historic sights.

I’ve never insulted someone by saying thank you before.

I’ve never had sweet vermouth + a few drops of bitters + a toothpick with an orange and an olive and loved it so fiercely.

All these nevers left a lot of room for firsts, for a proper education, for diving in without checking the temperature of the water. I suggest you compile your own list of nevers and cross them off one by one or, heck, all at once. ;)

L: I just had a long dream about your wedding! Your hubbie is hot. You only dated a few months. You sis ([Sister J]) couldn’t get ready on time. I had to go pick her up with my work badge. We kept eating a lot of cookies. I also didn’t have time to do my hair so only one side was curly. Please don’t judge me in the pics. You’ll have to tell the full story.

It was 9:30pm Saturday night when the texts came through.

Texts which started out dreamy and ended up in reality as we covered updates in our love lives, reading lives, and work lives.

L: I’m in Myanmar/Burma as we speak for work.

Me: What time is it there?

L: 9am Sunday. Hence I just woke up when I texted you. I had to share!

Me: Oh!! The dream was fresh.

And so may be my love life now that I’m armed with book recommendations, real life advice, and gave some honest answers to tough questions. Dating is partially about getting to know another person, and partially about getting to know yourself. For now, it’s enough to be able to give a small update, to explain that I am trying, I am doing, and her supporting, sharing, encouraging. Two friends separated by too many countries to count united by dreams and technology.

L: I gotta run. Off to the market. Thanks for the chat. You entertained me over breakfast.

As she started her day, I ended mine and headed to bed, reaching for the tendrils of her dream, hoping they (and he) would be within reach.

How was your writing retreat in Prague, I said.

So good, KAK said, but I didn’t actually write much. Too busy taking notes and workshopping stories and meeting with teachers and living in that gorgeous city.

You were filling your creative well, I said.

Inspire also means to breathe, KAK said, so you inhale the experiences and as you exhale, you write about all the things you inhaled.

We were using different words to say the same thing.

Her words, however, trilled a familiar tune in me because, breathing, it’s something I do every day. I do it without thought, without effort, and with my eyes closed or open. Is writing really as easy as that? Can it be? Could it be? Maybe not. Probably not. But this is a simple way for me to approach the big bad beast of fumbling my way through my story. And overcoming that fear has been much too difficult of late.

I now know I just have to take this one breath at a time.

I removed my ring (my family heirloom, my most prized possession because it is beautiful, it makes me feel strong and independent, it ties me to my family heritage, it reminds me of my aunt A who gave it to me, it makes me think of my dad as his sister gave it to me, it’s lived on some fancy fingers and I try to live up to that) and thought about where to put it while I slathered on sunscreen. The cup holders were full. The pocket in the door handle was too shallow. My purse was too big. I put it on my lap.

The cool lotion soothed my baking skin.

J slammed on the brakes as the sign about sweet corn alerted us to the farmers’ market. As J had taken care of other group expenses, she would add this to her total to be divided up later. I stepped over my purse. Reds and oranges and yellows and greens painted each bucket of produce and sweetly scented peaches drew my attention while J drooled over the tomatoes. Two city girls beaming in the middle of a farmers market. Bags in hand, we returned to the car and to the final 15 minutes of our trip. Up and around the mountain, ears popping, me calling out directions. We were the first car to arrive.

Car #2 showed up 20 minutes later and as we were chatting and carrying things into the house, my ears started ringing and my bare hand trembled. Where was my ring?

I don’t think she’s listening, someone said.

I shook my head. I lifted my hand. My ring is gone, I said. Oh no, they said. J and I tore apart her car. Crumbs and papers and receipts and 15 pens, but no ring. I moved her car from its spot and we searched the ground underneath. Nothing.

I was putting the sunscreen on, I said. I put it in my lap. It’s at the market. I have to go back. I have to go back to the market. Can I take your car? I can drive. You can drive. I have to go back.

J hugged me and handed me her keys and I drove off with a heightened sense of sight. I, the one who still gets lost in Boston 12 years later, remembered each turn down the mountain. Right, right, left, right, route 33. Look for the cupcake sign. Look for the spa sign. Slam on the brakes. Pull into the lot.

Along the way, my aunt L came to mind. Two years ago, I drove her from PA to MA and she explained how she went from a strict organized religion to a looser, more forgiving new age frame of mind. I liked the idea of the spirit guides then and I truly needed them now. Plus, she’s a sister to my dad and aunt A. I figured if I ever needed to invoke the power of my family, this was it. Maybe some of the family’s spirit guides could help too. I clutched the steering wheel. The knobby bits underneath the wheel worrying under my fingers like rosary beads.

My ring is insured, but does that policy cover stupidity?

Also, I don’t want a replacement. That won’t have lived on fancy family fingers. It won’t have seen cocktail parties from decades ago. It won’t sparkle the same.

I inhaled a gigantic breath and stepped out of the car. There were only a few cars in the lot. The entire area where we’d previously parked was empty. I systematically walked over the gravel. I tiptoed over the rocks. Shades of gray to perfectly conceal the platinum I was looking for. Come on, ring, I thought. Live up to your name. Sparkle for me. Show me where you are.

Bile rose as nothing but nature appeared.

I walked to the front of the parking spot to go about the search from a new angle. I looked to the employees. All busy. I was too close to tears to explain what I was looking for anyways. Then, a familiar sparkle caught my eye. Afraid it wasn’t real and afraid it would disappear if I moved too fast, I dove onto the gravel.

My ring.

Dusty, but in perfect shape.

I found it I found it I found it I found it, I cried into the phone.

I’d called J but KAK answered and provided the necessary exclamations of cheer and happiness. Now get back here and start celebrating, she said. With my family connection secured, I drove with shaking hands and a steady heart back to the mountain that contained my college friends.