Query: What places can you travel to over and over again?

I would like to say that I have had dreams of traveling over and over again to some romantic or glamorous place like Paris or New York, and that I followed those dreams, but that simply isn't true.

When I was 37, I was sent to Paris as the account executive covering a TV commercial shoot for a client. It seemed like it would be a dream come true. The shoot was to take 2-3 days, but we were booked there for 10. It turned out that we needed the 10 days. In the entire time I was in Paris, I had about a day and a half to spend on my own. My mother met me in Paris, traveling from middle Tennessee, to celebrate my birthday during my working vacation. She and I took a trip down the Seine one evening and I spent one afternoon in the Musee D'Orsay. The rest of the time was spent holding the hand of a nervous client and re-arranging the shoot locations during an August that was unseasonably cold.

My mother had the vacation of a lifetime. She arrived in Paris the day before me and somehow navigated her way from the De Gaulle Airport by bus to the hotel on the Left Bank where we had reservations. Parisians, notorious for their impatience with visitors who don't know French, passed my mother from person to person, escorting her from the airport to the right bus (no expensive taxi for her) to the concierge of our hotel. It was a miracle that occurred throughout her trip. Forced to either sit in the hotel while I was working or explore the city on her own, she thumbed through her guide book planning each day's events with the hope that I could join her and each day I was forced to work the job that inconveniently interjected itself into our plans. Each museum tour, each adventure into a quaint shop or patisserie, produced a Parisian who happily took my mother under their wing speaking broken English and directing her to whimsical, offbeat locations and secret installations of museums, providing stories she regaled me with at the end of the day when she and I met after my work day was done. I have photographs of her trip to Paris. It was wonderful. I was jealous for years.

When I was in my 40s, my mother and I planned to take a return trip to Paris. I spent months floating around the elementary school where I was then working singing "April in Paris" to anyone who would listen and to those who tried to run away. About two weeks before we were scheduled to leave, I fell asleep in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. An uncommon event. When I awoke and made my way to the bathroom, I noticed my face in the mirror. I was far too old for acne, but there was my reflection covered with pimples. I sighed, still fatigued, and headed back to bed, where I immediately fell asleep again. Hours later, I looked in mirror again and realized I hadn't seen a pimpled-face teenager, I had a face covered with Chicken Pox. I was quarantined in my apartment and the Paris trip was cancelled. My mother and I said we would reschedule but we never did and since she died, I have had no interest in returning.

Since moving to Michigan from New York City, I have returned once. I spent a week at a conference and had a long weekend to myself. I saw an old friend, walked through neighborhoods that had once seemed like home and was overwhelmed with sadness and loss. I had chosen to leave, hadn't I? Why was I so sad and lonely? I think it was because the New York that I knew, the one that had been so exhilarating and exciting, was now a piece of memory. Times had changed, my time had changed. People had moved on, moved out, and disappeared from my life through their choices or mine. I was worse than a tourist because I was looking for a New York that no longer existed. New York was no longer my home.

These days, the places I return to again and again are in books, which may seem like a sad choice to some, but I don't see it that way. I return to Hogwarts, to a House on the Prairie, to Naria time and again. Sometimes, they are as I remember them, other times I bring something new with me or I discover a new aspect that had escaped me before. The journey is comforting and comfortable and each trip feels like I'm coming home.