Newsweek recently published an essay I wrote about the trip I took to Paris after David died. I’d always dreamed of visiting the City of Lights, and when I finally made it there, one thing wasn’t as I’d imagined: I was traveling alone…as a widow.

I called the trip my “widowmoon” and set the intention of discovering who I was now that I was no longer someone’s wife. In the essay, I wrote about wandering the Champs-Élysées, where I remembered my years as a fashion reporter, and standing before Notre-Dame as it was being restored, feeling an unexpected kinship with its resurgence.

The real transformation didn’t occur in Paris, though. It happened after I came home.

Somewhere along the cobblestone streets, I’d reconnected with a much younger version of myself. The reporter who hopped on planes for assignments. The woman who walked into rooms alone. And the person whose curiosity led her places simply because they sounded like great stories. It was then I realized that version of me had never really gone away; she’d simply put herself aside during her caregiving years. She was me, and suddenly I knew I’d be OK.

Paris taught me many lessons. First, you don’t have to be brave forever. You just have to be brave long enough to book the ticket. One courageous decision creates momentum, and momentum has a remarkable way of carrying you toward your new life.

I also learned that trying to skip ahead—to predict the ending or rush through the hard parts—steals the joy from the process. Sometimes the ending is better than anything you could have written yourself. Sometimes it’s something that once felt impossible. Why would you want to spoil that?

A new life isn’t found. It’s created one year, one month, one ordinary moment at a time. That trip uncorked my love of travel. Since then, I’ve had afternoon tea in London, sailed the Amalfi Coast, and took a train cross-country. I’ve also signed up for ukulele and watercolor classes, and said “yes” to experiences that introduced me to people who have enriched my life in ways I never knew I needed.

Reinvention often begins with a single decision. My widowmoon didn’t cure my grief. It reminded me that I was still alive, and once I remembered that, everything else became possible.

 

Joie de Veuve

Joie de veuve is French for a widow’s joy. I’ve learned that joy doesn’t arrive all at once. It appears in small moments if you’re willing to notice them.

Recently, I’ve found joy in:

• A double rainbow after a summer shower
• The Connecticut shoreline with someone special
• Watching my sister’s grandson light up when he saw her

Worth Sharing

I was far too old to have been part of the Hannah Montana generation, but I’ve become a fan of this Miley Cyrus song. It captures the spirit of this post perfectly.

Be Brave

I once heard someone say, “The first person you meet when you get off a plane is yourself.” Travel has a way of stripping away routines, expectations, and familiar roles. When you’re alone in a new place, there’s nowhere to hide from yourself. I’ve found that to be especially true when I travel solo.

You don’t have to fly to Paris. Your “ticket” might be a class you’ve always wanted to take, a weekend trip, a new hobby, or simply saying yes to something that scares you a little. So go ahead. Be brave. Book the ticket!