Time for true confessions from the Publisher. I cry pretty much every time I leave my family to travel alone. I worry that they will starve. Miss appointments. Need me. Not need me. I fear dying in a tragic plane crash. Or that the dreaded "something" will go wrong while I'm gone and I won't be there to fix it.
So why go? Why do I put myself through the stress?
Because life should be an adventure. Because my spirit needs to explore. Because I'm a better parent when I've had four days alone. Because there are mountains I want to climb and waves I want to surf that are just not suitable for children.
So once or twice, or even three times a year, I book a trip, pack a bag, endure the sleepless night before I leave and tell myself that they will be fine. And usually (though not always) I actually get on the plane the next day.
And so should you.
