One of the things I liked about my former job with the U.S. State Department were the trips to and from my assignments in other countries. I would hop on a plane and spend a couple of days away from daily duties.

True, I didn’t enjoy cramped airplane seating, squeezed next to strangers, but I usually lost myself in a book, avoiding chit chat with seat mates. I caught up with books and ideas and enjoyed the random discoveries. In the airports, often in foreign countries, I relaxed in my anonymity, letting my thoughts roam where they would.

I know hotel rooms can be lonely, and I certainly wouldn’t want to spend my entire life in hotel living. Nevertheless, when your work is extremely busy, as mine was overseas, the hotel evening provided an escape from the constant demands of the job, the twenty-four hour availability. I rested and took time to journal.

Today, my husband and I continue to “get away” occasionally. We spend a few days in a hideaway where we hike, read, write, and relax. We leave meetings and routine chores behind.

Getting away is a privilege not open to all. We are exceedingly thankful for the home we can return to. We love our everyday lives, the friends with whom we share, and the relaxed atmosphere of our small town, but as introverts we have always craved getting away times.

I’m also aware of uncounted numbers of refugees for whom travel is a nightmare. Would that all had a home to return to after “getting away.”