There’s magic in going somewhere your genetic makeup is built for. I’ve lived in the San Fernando Valley for the last year and a half, and the sunny heat is brutal. It has only rained 3 or 4 times.
 
I’m not built for the desert. I fry like a tomato under sun exposure beyond 30 minutes. Even with sunscreen and no sunburns, I develop hives on my hands and neck after several days of exposure. I’m a right ol’ ginger through and through.
 
Traveling to Scotland and Ireland always feels right. It felt right when I lived in London and Cambridge for a Summer. Like I was made for the dreary grey weather. Well, dreary for thee but not for me.
 
This trip with my mom, sister, brother-in-law, aunt, and uncle was no exception to that feeling of rightness. Swimming in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of western Ireland is now a favorite memory of mine. Running around barefoot on rolling green hills was intoxicating. Freeing. Even with the little pebbles of sheep poo sticking to my feet.
 
Take me back.
 
I love the easy-going pace and work/life balance of Europe. The hustle-till-you-die culture we have in the States is not as prevalent. People are given actual time off and work relatively sustainable hours. Parental leave for the birth of a child is a given. They have their own share of social problems, sure, like an ongoing rubbish strike, but my 10 total annual vacation days (I used up 8 for this trip!) are laughable and horrendously sad in comparison. I stopped wearing my apple watch because of this trip. The ever-present and near-constant buzz of work notifications felt like wearing willful slavery on my wrist.
 
My mom planned a grand adventure for us. We are terribly lucky to have her. Coldplay and London Grammar, touring the Isle of Skye, climbing ancient castles and monuments to bygone heroes, touring a scotch distillery as a non-drinker, running up grassy hills, running down grassy hills, touring spooky cemeteries, and dining on classically boring UK/Ireland food was nothing short of perfect. I had the time of my life and was terribly saddened to return to the droll hubbub of LA life.
 
I’d rather be racing wildling Scotts up Glammig Hill, laughing with abandon as we tumble down together on the way back. I’d rather be touring the lesser-known castles, reading about the people that lived and died within those stones—and torturing Ayden by doing so for “too long”. I’d rather explore little villages and little coffee shops in a vain quest for the perfect cappuccino. I’d rather share a sunset with family I haven’t seen in too long. I’d rather exercise the right to roam and explore the countryside. Ride a bike, hang out with sheep, lose the group, and find myself lost in a fishery.
 
Ugh. Take me back to Scotland. Take me back to Ireland.