When I was in my late 20s, some close friends asked me to go with them to England, Scotland and France the following year. We drank wine and they said,
‘Come with us — we know how much you’ve always wanted to see Europe. You’ll have a year to save for it.’
They told me how much money I’d roughly need. I took a big sip of wine and said I’d let them know in a few days. My heart soared! And then I went home and couldn’t sleep as I was worried about how I’d find the money.
I had good reasons to feel a little freaked out.
I’d just broken up with my live-in boyfriend. I’d bought him out of our townhouse and I’d decided to live there alone for another year. I worked 100% commission as an advertising salesperson for a television network, which meant if I didn't sell anything — I couldn’t eat or pay the mortgage.
But by the next morning, I’d made my decision. I was going to Paris. I dug out a picture of the Eiffel Tower and I taped it to the front of my fridge. And then I sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, my bank statements, paper, pen, and my trusty…
