媽媽的單獨旅行

For years， I was lost in that delicate dance of working and raising young children. Breakfast at seven. Clothes picked out. Backpacks filled. Off to school. Drive to sports…or music lessons…or friends’houses. Dinner. Homework. Bed. And in between babies’ naps and play dates and taxiing， I fit in my “real”job—online teaching and academic advising. Phew.

I remember， oh so clearly， that morning I brought my third child home from the hospital. As I walked in the door， carrying a day-old baby， the home phone rang. Out of habit， I rushed to answer， only to be greeted by a student asking questions about his courses. Looking back， I can almost see that red flag floating over my head， warning me that something had to change.

That filled-to-the-brim schedule went on for years. It was， at first， delightfully exhausting. Predictably， though， it wore me down.

One evening， after a conference with a student， a homework session with a 10-year-old， and a midnight baking 1） stint for a fifth-grade class party， I 2）slumped to the floor. I can’t make another batch of cookies， I thought. I don’t want to advise another student. I had gone from superwoman to broken-down woman， right there in my dimly lit kitchen， with my family all safely tucked into bed.

Pulling myself up off the floor， I realized I had to get out of Dodge. It took me less than 24 hours to make my plans.

“I’m going on a journey，” I announced at a family dinner that week.

“To the mall？” my young daughter asked.

“No，” I explained. “I’m going on a trip–alone–to Los Angeles. And I’m taking the cross-country train.”

A quick flight to a neighboring state held no interest. Rather， I pulled out the 3）Amtrak map， selected their longest route and reserved a ticket to Southern California.

I had never had much desire to visit Los Angeles. But a not-so-appealing-to-me place and a lengthy journey—was a draw. I didn’t want to spend my days rushing to tourist spots. That was the type of vacation I’d taken with my children for years. On this trip， I wanted no agenda， no plans.

And so， on a frigid winter night， I boarded a train in New York and headed for Chicago， where I’d switch to Amtrak’s daily sleeper to Los Angeles.

Almost at once， I felt the stress fade away. I was assigned my own room—well， more broomcloset-like， than room-like—but nonetheless， beautifully my own. A porter turned my seat into a bed for me each night， and I was rocked to sleep by the 4）chugging of the engine， the swaying of the cars. I ate community meals and sipped wine in the observation car， lulled into a near zombielike state as the train passed cities， crossed cornfields and tunneled through mountain ranges.

Three days later， rested， I exited at Union Station in Los Angeles. 5）Clutching my bag on arrival， I expected to battle the bustle of a big city station. Instead， my guard was released. Sunshine drenched the terra-cotta-tiled hallways， and travelers strolled casually， free， it seemed， from concern.

For days I walked the streets of Los Angeles. With little interest in the high-end stores and galleries， I spent most of my time on side streets. It was on one of those not-so-well-traveled paths where I met Sebastian， a homeless 15-year-old， who approached me for money.

“Can we sit？” I asked， startled that a boy， not much older than my son， was on his own.

We talked about drugs and goals and his mother’s problems.

“Go back to school，” I said as I folded a bill into his palm.

“Go back to your kids，” he answered， grinning， and wandered away.

The time flew by， without a cent spent at the usual tourist attractions. There were no tours of movie lots， no excursions to the beach. It was an unconventional visit； one not typically highlighted on the pages of a travel section.

During my final afternoon， I hiked the trails of the Hollywood Hills. Alone， I pressed on， awed by the beauty， overcome by the views， and energized by the life flowing through my veins.

More than a year has now passed since that trip and my renewed zest for life has only grown. Within weeks of returning， I signed up for a photography class. I joined a rowing club. I set firm hours for student calls. In short， I fit “me-time” into my busy load.

Yes， I now miss some family dinners in favor of evening rows. And I allow myself midday work breaks， particularly if the lighting is good for shooting pictures. Still， the family thrives. The work gets done. And， wonderfully， my smile broadens.

有好幾年，我迷失在工作和養兒育女的忙碌生活中。七點吃早餐，然后挑選衣服，裝好背包，出發去學校，開車送孩子們去上體育或音樂課或去朋友家。吃晚餐、做作業、睡覺。在孩子睡覺到帶他們游玩、乘車之間的這段時間，我抽空做我“真正”的工作—網絡教學和學業指導。呼。

我記得，噢，太清楚了，那天早上我把第三個孩子從醫院帶回家。我帶著一天大的嬰兒走到家門口時，家里電話響了。出于習慣，我匆忙趕去接聽，原來只是一個學生詢問關于他所學課程的問題。回想過去，我幾乎看到了在我頭上飄揚的紅旗，提醒我要作出改變。

那個滿滿的日程表持續了好幾年。一開始是勞累并快樂著的。然而，不出所料，那把我累垮了。

一天晚上，先是跟一個學生開會，接著指導一個十歲的小孩做作業，然后為準備五年級的班級派對在深夜烘培，最后我重重地倒在了地板上。我想我不能再繼續做餅干了。我不想再指導學生。就在昏暗的廚房里，我從一個女超人變成一個累垮了的女人，而我的家人正酣然入睡。

從地板爬起來后，我意識到我必須走出困境。我只花了不到24小時來制定我的計劃。

“我準備去旅行，”在那周全家一起吃晚飯時，我對他們宣布了這件事。

“去購物中心嗎？”我的小女兒問道。

“不是，”我向她解釋。“我要一個人去洛杉磯旅行，我要坐州際火車。”

搭飛機一下子飛到鄰州沒一點意思。于是我拿出美國鐵路公司的地圖，選了一條最長的路線，預定了一張到南加州的火車票。……