Hi, my name is Megan, and I have wanderlust.
I’m living on a tour bus right now, I’m in a hotel every night, this is going to be my life until May…and I’m planning a trip for my two weeks off.
Yep. Not staying at home refusing to leave my house or put on pants for two weeks. I’m planning an overseas adventure. Part of me really wanted to go back to Ireland, but we’re going to Greece and (back to) Italy instead.
I had this grand plan where I was going to book like one hotel room a week. Space everything out so as not to get stressed. But booking travel is like an addiction for me. Sure, I just booked a hotel in Athens…but I could look at Delphi.
Yeah, I should be a responsible author, but what’s the best way to get from Santorini to Crete (it’s a ferry, in case you were wondering.)
What was meant to take more than a month to do took me all of six days. And not because I wanted to get it over with, or because it was cheaper. I couldn’t stop looking at Booking.com. I scoured like some people swipe through tinder.
I just needed to see the next possibility. Can I afford the canopy bed? How close is this to public transit? Is there after-hours check in? What’s the rating on the complimentary breakfast?
I couldn’t stop!
And then…it was all booked. The whole trip.
All the hotels and planes and ferries. Everything was done.
And then I cried, because the best game was over.
Some of my friends have decided that I should be a travel agent. Book amazing trips for other people. It could be fun if I could fit it in between acting and writing.
Or, and this is the plan I prefer, one of my books should be made into a movie and then given its own theme park so I can be super rich and travel all the time.
But if I had a ton of money, would scouring for the best deal that includes free parking for my rental car be as fun?
Would it be weird if I started planning imaginary vacations and just saving hotels to a folder even though I had never actually made a booking?
Have I jumped past the line of sanity?
Does it matter?