Most of my friends travel to relax. Occasionally, I do, too. But I also go places to be uncomfortable—and challenged, and maybe even changed. The seven days I spent in Havana in late January checked all those boxes.
This week I will make history. I will do so by voting in America’s 60th consecutive federal election, a tradition first begun in 1789.
It took a trip to Havana and a visit to the Galleria Continua there, where I saw the “El Buen Pastor—The Good Shepherd” for me to decide to go ahead and hit the “publish” button.
Imagine my surprise when I find out Mom’s booked me and my sister, along with herself, on a 12-day expedition cruise through the polar seas of the Norwegian Arctic.
In the shade of an oak tree, glimpsed over a nominal fence, stands a lowly metal pole with a dirty yellow ball tethered from the top.
Age is relative. It’s subjective, too. I know this because I just turned 58 and everyone has an opinion about it.
I paid $230 and driven two hours and nine minutes for this exercise in social anxiety, I remind myself, as I step out from underneath the tree. It would be fiscally irresponsible to turn around now.
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