I really, really miss our honeymoon.
I recognize this is the most predictable statement in the history of the world. Who wouldn’t miss white sand beaches and postcard-perfect sunsets and mandatory happy hour? Who doesn’t like vacation?
But honestly, sometimes I don’t.
Our trip to Mexico in November was lovely, but Dave and I felt a little trapped at the resort, a little bored and restless and really, I don’t do well with all-inclusive meal plans. (White girl problems, literally, I know.) India was moving and beautiful and exhilarating but also difficult and stressful. And while Dave and I met in Spain, all of our trips together since then have been more “dear lord I will not make it to spring if we don’t escape work/school/winter for at least 48 hours” than purposeful search for adventure and fun.
Basically, it’s been a while since I’ve had that elusive perfect vacation.
So maybe, by the standards of my admittedly very first world, exceedingly charmed life, I was due for a killer honeymoon. Which, conveniently, is just what we got.
Part of it was the post-wedded bliss, I’m sure — I was operating on such a baseline level of happy that my lunch of McDonald’s fries and a grilled chicken caesar wrap at the Dallas Fort Worth airport literally thrilled me. I was buzzed off of our vows, those cakes, that party, and everything felt wonderful — the private car we booked to the airport so luxurious, the flight from Texas to Maui so, somehow, fun? We were surrounded by scores of fellow newlyweds – some writing their thank you notes already (clearly the valedictorians of wedding planning) and some reading Fifty Shades of Gray together (um, maybe the valedictorians of honeymoon sex?) Whatever works! I was happy just resting my head on my new husband’s shoulder and watching the Hawaiian islands finally make their way to my window.
We spent one week on Maui and one in Kuaui. We lay by the pool, on the hammock, on the balcony and admired our rings. We walked along the coastline and dipped our toes in the ocean and ordered fish tacos over and over again. We ate dinner at oceanfront restaurants and felt like maybe we’d never seen a sunset before? They were so bright and so beautiful.
We ate shave ice and mahi mahi and so much raw tuna I became convinced I would pick up mercury poisoning by the end of the trip. We drove along the coast of Maui, feet on the dash, eating parmesan goldfish by the handful. We swam in waterfalls (ok, one of us did) and tried to hike in flip-flops. We took one snorkeling trip that was lovely — calm sea, cool crater, turtles spotted — and one that was horrific — gorgeous coastline, cool fish, lots of vomiting from one new wife. We got over it and headed back to the pool.
Our triumphant return to real life was a bit of a shock — not just that whole lack of paradise thing, but also that lack of each other thing, due to two crazy work schedules. Saturday will actually be the first weekend day Dave has had off since the honeymoon, and even though I’ve been busy, filling my time with the most stereotypical summer in New York itineraries you’ve ever seen (Met rooftop happy hour, Amy Poehler at the 92nd St. Y, a trip to the Cloisters, yes I read Time Out New York how did you know?) it’s all felt a teensy bit lacking without him. I also have to keep reminding myself that just because I suddenly get to spend more than four hours in a row with my husband doesn’t mean the frozen drinks and little St. Regis service flags will suddenly appear too.
But I will say that when we’re together, tropical backdrop or not, life is pretty fun, for the most part. And when it stops feeling like wedded bliss every second of every day, as I’ve heard marriages are wont to do? I’ll just try to keep my eye on that trip to Hawaii we’re already planning for next summer.