Chapter 8 not finish
TAKING FLIGHT
The time had come. I had to get out of my fortress, this cozy home that had become both my sanctuary and my cage.
But the thought of this very first solo trip terrified me.
I loved playing the hermit, but this damn retirement was throwing everything into a tailspin. I had to prove to myself that I could still pull it off—that I could still function, travel, and actually live.
I, the former flight attendant, the one who spent her life gliding down airplane aisles, sexy and sharp as a tack, now saw myself as a "washed-up old bag" (une vieille sacoche). I didn't have the job anymore, no uniform to keep me standing tall, no role to play. I’d been clinging to that identity for over 30 years.
My biggest fear? Bumping into old colleagues. I was scared to death of seeing my own reflection in their eyes: a woman who’d lost her spark, a ghost of the person I used to be when I was serving the world.
But then, reality hit me: after all those years of hard work and polite smiles, didn't I deserve a break? Wasn't I due to finally enjoy myself, without having to pour a coffee or double-check a seatbelt?
I had to find my guts again. Not the "flight attendant courage" facing turbulence, but the courage of a 66-year-old woman deciding that life doesn't end just because the career path hit a dead end. I had to get out of the house—not to run away from the fake Bon Jovis, but to go meet the only person who actually mattered: myself.
This trip wasn't just a spot on a map; it was about taking back my dignity. I was trading the uniform for freedom, even if my legs were shaking like leaves while I buckled my suitcase. The glorious image of the past clashing with the fear of the present was making me gasp for air.
IT WAS SUFFOCATING ME!
IT WAS NOW OR NEVER! I had to do it to finally make peace with my decision and live my retirement to the fullest.
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