As some of you know, I was afforded the opportunity to visit Ireland this week. I had never seen Ireland before, and I really wanted to see if I was still capable of traveling very far from home, leaving my comfort zone well behind. It was daunting, and until the wheels of the plane landed in Shannon, I was dreading every moment of it. Of course, things never seem to turn out as bad as the horrible catastrophe that your mind expects, and this trip (now that it is close to its end) is no exception.
For many years now, when I am asked if I want to participate in any trip that involves travel on an airplane, my initial response is always no. I am just not confident that I will be able to survive the grueling travel schedule that frequently accompanies a simple seven-day trip overseas. Inevitably, the person arranging the tour wants to see as much of the country as possible in the amount of time that we have, and that always translates into a schedule from hell for a person with Rheumatoid Arthritis.