Love at First Trip

A few weeks into my self-proclaimed healing journey: the holidays were over, I was away on a work trip, sipping on some red wine in my hotel room, while studying radar theory. The man I met last week gave me a call to see how my work trip was going. After giving him a brief update we exchanged military anecdotes, I educated him on the luxurious Birkin bag, and we talked about our desire to travel to certain destinations with an emphasis on experimenting with ayahuasca in Peru. I told him about my healing journey, he told me about his life, and we laughed about our past traumas. The conversation ended about seven hours later and picked back up with a “good morning” text just a few hours later. 

Later that week this man suggested we take a trip together, for the reasons that “we were both a great time and we both loved to travel”. This was all super factual, but it screamed “relationship” and I was hesitant to give any indication that I would be willing to sacrifice my healing journey as a single woman. Against my good judgment, I agreed, “he probably wasn’t serious anyways”. It turned out that he was serious, very serious actually. He texted me in the morning to check my email; plane tickets to Ireland for St. Patrick’s Day weekend. I sat there in disbelief, is this my husband or a psychopath? I just met this man. My friends asked me what I was going to do, as if I didn’t already decide I was going to go to Ireland with the man I just met (I was just as psychotic as this man, and we all knew it). I responded with a rather aggressive “well I’m definitely going”. 

March 15, 2023: We flew from Boston to Dublin. We sat at a wine bar in our terminal. It felt normal, a little too normal. He was perfect, a little too perfect. He carried all the luggage (while holding my hand still), ordered me a red wine flight for tasting, and conversed with me (while monitoring the time, so that we wouldn’t miss our flight). A man that I could trust to lead me? I must be dreaming.

The weekend was filled with distillery tours, sleeping in, and self-guided bar crawls. We fully embraced the Irish breakfast that included a pint of Guinness or some whiskey in our coffee. We walked around the city, stopping at every pub that I found aesthetically pleasing. When we talked to locals about traveler recommendations, they usually just gave us a list of bars they enjoyed. We took note. As we adventured through the city, whenever we needed to use the bathroom, we stopped into a pub to get a drink. Our math equated to one pee break equals two beverages.

One night he brought up the idea of getting matching tattoos. Crazier than I expected, but this was my favorite type of crazy. Usually, I’d be all about a matching tattoo, but like I said, I just met this man. I agreed against my good judgment once again. He probably wasn’t serious anyways, but once again, he was very serious. We stumbled into a tattoo parlor and decided we would get matching tattoos. The tattoo we decided on was the Celtic symbol for purity. Each night before bed we would discuss our developing relationship and words to describe what we were feeling. The constant was always “pure”. The tattoo locked us in as a couple, it was symbolic to our current feelings, and it was a tribute to our trip to Ireland.

We did some shopping; we took turns doing fashion shows for one another and collaborated on some matching outfits. He had some European style suites fitted to him, and his name was embroidered on the inside. I told him that a Burberry trench coat screamed “Ireland” so it would be fitting to buy one while in the country. He agreed it was fitting and brought me to the Westbury Mall. He had me size up on the trench coat, his explanation: “so that I could grow into it”. I was slightly offended, but this also meant he was in it for the long haul, even if I got a little pudgy. I found his masculine logic endearing. 

We partook in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, actually we missed most of it because we had reservations for afternoon tea. I was so excited to share my love for scones and clotted cream with this new man. We ate some delicious foods, and exchanged words that I’ll never forget. Immediately following our afternoon tea, we found an adorable book store. I was determined to buy some poetry books while in Ireland, but the real goal of the day was to go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral on St. Patrick’s Day. Duh. I was devastated to find out that the church was closed for the day! We continued on a now somber stroll until we came across a different but equally breathtaking cathedral. We walked up the steps, blessed ourselves with the holy water, and kneeled to pray. I always found praying in foreign churches to be so powerful, but this one seemed to have a different type of power. We blessed ourselves once more as we walked out, and before we made it back to the main street, we were talking about getting married. 

The night before we left, I checked in with my mom. I texted her a similar explanation of the weekend and attached the photo of the Burberry trench coat he bought me. 

Mumma: is this your husband? 

Me: Yes.