San Antonio or bust.

Several years ago, back when The Husband was still The Boyfriend, a friend asked me to be a bridesmaid. This was back when I was still generally clueless about such things and didn't realize the pure torture that came with saying "Of course! I'd love to! I'm honored!"

I know better now.

The wedding was to take place in Las Vegas. The Husband couldn't attend and I couldn't be away from work too long, so I booked a flight that would get me there the day before the wedding and home right after the wedding.

Unfortunately, it was right before we were to leave for the airport, just as The Husband began yelling from the bottom of the stairs that we had to leave Right! This! Second! that I glanced at my flight info and realized I had booked a return flight for that very same night. Oops.

I'm still recovering from what followed. I made a mad attempt to reschedule. When that failed, I had no other choice but to cancel and drive. Normally, driving myself the eight hours to and from Las Vegas wouldn't be a problem, but I still had to leave right after the wedding.

Which meant driving sixteen hours for a trip that would last the same amount of time.

Which meant driving through the night to make it home in time for a Godforsaken five-thirty a.m. shift.

It was an hour or two into the drive home, nearly the middle of the night, and a migraine struck. I called The Husband. "There's no way I can drive through this," I said. "I have to stop. Please, find me a hotel room."

He did and I wound up sleeping off said migraine in a La Quinta somewhere off highway 58 and calling in "sick" to work.

Even since then, I've been incredibly nervous when it comes to booking flights. I'm always afraid I'm going to make the same mistake.

With that being said, I've checked my flight schedule no less than forty-five times since I clicked "purchase ticket" a mere four days ago. Also, every time I wake up, I fear I've overslept by days and have completely missed my trip.

Peeps, I'm flying to San Antonio tomorrow. Other than El Paso, I've never seen Texas. And, let's face it, El Paso so totally doesn't count.

I'm terribly excited. I've never flown by myself and there comes a real sense of independence with doing so. And I like it. I'm nervous, sure. Not about flying, but about missing my connections or having a complete nervous breakdown 'cause I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

Technically, I'm going to visit The Husband. He's in San Antonio working for a couple of weeks and when he suggested I come out for a weekend and I just happened to have the time off, I jumped at the opportunity. And, since he's working, I'll be doing a little sight-seeing and a lot of lounging by the pool all on my own.

And I am A-okay with that.

Three weeks ago, The Husbands and my relationship began to shift. We exchanged a couple of interesting and thoughtful e-mails, I suggested we talk in person and we went on to have an amazing conversation. It felt like we were really communicating for the first time ever.

I wouldn't go so far as to say we knew right then that we wanted to work things out. Far from it, actually. That was the night I said I wanted us to decide, one way or the other, by June first.

It was I who suggested a couple days later that we spend an evening together. A sort of "date," if you will. I suggested we do something totally normal and low key. Like a movie. Something we would have done while we were married. I didn't want to talk about our marriage or our problems. I didn't want either of us to feel as if we had to impress the other. "Let's just go as friends," I said. "Let's just spend some time together and see how it fits."

It was fun. We talked, we laughed. It felt good.

And, here's the thing. I'm making an effort to let go of the fear that I'll make a wrong decision. Instead, I'm going to focus on what makes me happy. Because, the fact is, The Husband and I could get back together, have a wonderful marriage for ten or twenty years and still end up divorced. There are no guarantees. I'll never be able to know for sure, without a doubt, that staying together or getting divorced is the right or wrong thing to do until I actually do it.

No, I'm not going to ignore the warning signs. I'm not going to ignore what could be or is a problem. It's why I said I wouldn't even consider trying to make this marriage work if he wasn't willing to go to counseling.

Is this trip to San Antonio a mistake? Could be. But am I excited to go? Yes. Absolutely. I'm excited to travel. I'm excited to travel ON MY OWN. I'm excited to see The Husband. I'm excited to get out of town and relax.

I realize that we're not exactly living reality here. When The Husband and I see each other now, we're on our best behavior. I shave my legs and wear the uncomfortable pretty stuff from Victoria's Secret. It's fun and exciting... like a brand new relationship.

It's easy to forget about all the things that drove us apart while we were living together.

Well, maybe not as easy to forget as it is to just stop thinking about it while we're having fun.

I will make myself think about it. That's important. I need to decide if I can live with and move forward after everything that has happened between us. I need to think about the risks involved.

But I'm not going to sit around, unable to make a decision 'cause I'm too afraid it'll be the wrong one.

And, mistake or otherwise, I'm flying to San Antonio tomorrow. And, damn it, I'm going to have fun. And I can't wait.