I’d rather have adventure

Today I started the serious planning for my trip to New York and Boston in November. You know, the reserving hostels, shopping flights, scoping out the daily itineraries. The fun stuff for compulsive planners like myself.

It’s going to cost more than I would like, between $850 and $1000, depending on how frugally I eat and shop. I ruled out a week in Hawaii with my BFF because it was going to be about that much after all of her travel hook ups and I couldn’t justify the cost. But I’m still going to New York and Boston. Why that over Hawaii? For me, if I don’t come home from a vacation more exhausted then when you left than you’re doing it wrong. I want adventure. I don’t want to sit on a beach. I want to come home with stories.

It occurred to me that this trip is the perfect example of why I’m probably never going to own a house and a picture perfect grown-up life. I would much rather rent a room for my real life and go on adventures instead of paying a mortgage. I know I should probably leave the money in savings, where it sits in my Digit account, or use it to pay off debt (Which I am whittling away at, by the way.).

But… Adventure.

Originally this started as an opportunity to enter the Hamilton ticket lottery for a few days and have a solo adventure in New York, which I haven’t had since I attended an academic conference five years ago. The last few visits to New York have been with my BFF, who I love, but there is a wonderful luxury to getting to explore the city completely on my own and not accommodating anyone else’s to-do list. For example, she doesn’t care about Hamilton.

The trip got a definite date and new purpose when Letters to Cleo announced tour dates, including dates in New York and their hometown of Boston (and a new EP coming out 9/30!). They haven’t toured in eight years and I’ve only seen them once, eight years ago in LA. I squealed with glee as I read the announcement while riding shotgun on a road trip through the Carolina’s seeing one of my other all-time favorites, Butch Walker (I’m writing about that, too. More on it soon.)

So the third week of November I am taking myself to New York for 3 ½ days to stalk Hamilton, go to a few museums, see a few land marks that I’ve long wanted to visit and always miss, and to see one of my all-time favorite bands at Bowery Ballroom, one of my must visit venues. Then I’m hopping on a train (or bus… it is cheaper) and heading to Boston for their sold out hometown show at the Paradise, and perhaps a few Boston sites.

Then I will come home exhausted to an empty savings account, but I’ll have stories.

(BTW- I added a count down to the trip to the side bar.)



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