Last March I treated myself to my very first winter trip south. A pickleball getaway in Punta Cana.
When the plane took off, the word was be careful, you may need to quarantine upon your return. When the plane landed, the word was you should never have gone.
It was a stressful week. I mean, I killed it on the pickleball court, but every day the vibe at the resort got more and more tense.
One of the instructors had to leave because his home country closed its border and he couldn’t risk getting stuck in the Dominican Republic.
Restaurants closed, the resort looked more and more like a ghost town.
I felt guilty at the time for not taking the financial hit and cancelling my vacation.
Over 2 million deaths later, I think twice before leaving my own home, let alone traveling.
It’s unconscionable.