I am going to Florida.
I am actually going outside the state of Illinois.
This will be my first time anywhere. I don't count that trip to Green Bay, WI, to my uncle's fishing cabin. That wasn't a vacation. That was Hell on Earth. Between the fishing (I don't like fishing) and all the other males in the family excitedly dragging me to the Green Bay Packer Hall Of Fame (I don't like football), I couldn't wait for that to be over with.
It's going to be an interesting trip. There's a ren faire, the Wiki Watchee Mermaids, Harry Potter World, and my parents. My dad observed that I did not book enough time to visit my aunts, uncles, and grandma down there.
"Oh, just noticing," he said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.
In a way, this is the bravest thing I have ever done. This isn't like staying at a hotel for a convention in the area. There's no, "Oh, I forgot something, I'll just dash home and get it." I will be immersed in a completely new environment for a week, with no way to simply step back home. I will only have myself, my gear, and my angels. It shouldn't be a big deal. People go to Florida all the time. But when you are only taking your first real vacation and you're forty, it's intimidating.
I'm sure I'll be fine. I've been asking questions and getting things organized, prepping what goes with and how.
In the back of my mind, I'm imagining the beach. I'm a water sign. I love the water. And the idea of looking out at the water, where the horizon is where the blue of the sky and the blue of the water just blend together, just seems breathtaking.
And now, the countdown begins.