Y'all Come Sit a Spell

Good morning from the Atlantic. I have a fresh latte, fresh-squeezed juice, and an almond croissant, with the ocean spread out in front of me. It’s a lovely morning, and a far cry from the beginning of this vacation.
I had been planning this trip for eighteen months, and I was supposed to share it with my boyfriend. When he couldn’t come at the last minute, I had to make the journey on my own. Then, almost as soon as I arrived in a foreign city where I wasn’t fluent in the language, my luggage went missing.
One problem led to another. I had to find the right lost-and-found desks, make phone calls, and communicate with taxi and hotel staff across language barriers. I still didn’t have one of my bags, and I was scared and frustrated. I wanted to cry. It was a lot to manage, especially when the person I expected to be beside me wasn’t there.
Still, I kept working through it. I asked for help, explained what I could, and figured out the next step. I made it to the hotel, then to the port, with a bag still missing and plenty of reasons to feel overwhelmed.
If you had asked me before the trip whether I could handle all of that while keeping my wits about me, I don’t think I would have said yes. I’m not saying it was easy, or that I wasn’t scared. I’m saying I did it.
Now I can look back on that rough beginning from the middle of a beautiful Atlantic crossing. What felt like everything going wrong has become a travel story I know I’ll tell for years.