The View From the Holding Pattern

This week I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time watching planes take off from the Miami airport, partly because Ryan is busy working all day and partly because I’ve discovered that after years of chasing stories, deadlines, collaborations, and validation, there’s something oddly comforting about sitting still long enough to watch other people go somewhere.

From our hotel window, the planes rise one after another, disappearing into clouds that seem to swallow them whole before revealing a patch of blue on the other side. Stetson has become equally fascinated. He sits at the glass watching every takeoff as if he’s studying for an exam, his ears twitching each time another jet roars overhead.

It’s funny because Stetson is still relatively new to all of this. A year ago, he didn’t know us. He didn’t know road trips. He didn’t know hotel rooms. He didn’t know that his new humans occasionally load their entire lives into a car and point it toward another state (often Florida it seems)

Jasper, on the other hand, is a seasoned traveler. He’s crossed state lines more times than some people I know. He’s been on airplanes. He’s lived in multiple homes. He’s watched me reinvent myself more than once.

As I sat watching both cats this week, I found myself thinking about all the versions of me that have traveled, too.

People sometimes assume that because I wrote a cocktail book and spent years covering bars, restaurants, and travel that alcohol was woven through every mile of every journey. The truth is far more complicated than that. Some trips revolved around drinking. Many/most of them didn’t.

Some of my favorite travel memories have nothing to do with alcohol at all. My travels with my parents and much of my international travel involved sober Delia, but she wasn’t leading with joy, either.

Many of these sober memories involve sunrise runs barefoot in Hawaii, roadside diners solo in Sarasota, conversations with strangers, bookstores, biscuits, sunsets, live music, hotel pools, and the strange joy of discovering a place you’ve never seen before.

For years, alcohol was just part of the scenery. Sometimes it was front and center. Sometimes it barely appeared. Sometimes it felt celebratory. Sometimes it felt obligatory. Sometimes it felt like a costume I thought I was supposed to wear.

Eventually, it stopped fitting. It wasn’t a one and done, of course. But it was one orange martini in Ormand Beach that signaled my soul I couldn’t go on like this. My book Nashville Cocktails — was releasing 4 days later.

Looking back, I don’t think every chapter of my life needs to be rewritten through the lens of drinking. Some chapters were beautiful exactly as they were. Some were difficult. Some were chaotic. Some were magical.

But I do think there’s value in being honest about the fact that the story wasn’t as simple as people might imagine.

I wasn’t always drinking. And when I was, I wasn’t always out of control.

The two weren’t predictable at all, as I once believed.

What I find fascinating now is how much richer travel feels when I’m fully present for it.

I remember the conversations. I remember the meals. I remember the details.

I remember the way the air smelled after a storm. I remember watching my husband pursue a new opportunity while I sit in a hotel room in Miami writing about airplanes and cats. And somehow that’s enough.

A younger version of me would have felt guilty about this trip. I would have convinced myself I needed to network harder, schedule more meetings, visit more restaurants, create more content, prove my worth, justify my presence. Instead, I’ve spent part of this week watching Stetson discover airplanes. And maybe that’s the story— Not every season is for taking off.

Some seasons are for watching the runway, catching your breath, and realizing that your value doesn’t disappear when you’re standing still.

The planes keep leaving. The cats keep watching. Ryan comes home every evening with stories from "outside" while I regale him with puzzle, writing, website, and cat updates from inside my cozy little corner by the Miami Airport.

And for the first stretch of time in a decade, I don’t feel like I’m missing something by staying put long enough to enjoy the view.