'Don't Tell Me Not to Fly'

This. This. This right here. That's what I'm talking about. The video.

Don't tell me not to fly, I simply got to
If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you
Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade

Say what you want. It's now my theme song. I never thought about having a theme song until fellow blogger SingLikeSassy posted it yesterday.

Who knows? Maybe it won't be my song for long; I'm hopeful. But the song intimates how I feel most of the time after I tell a friend, hater, relative or colleague, where I'm going for my next four-day escape or two-week vacation. (Besides, I like that Barbra Streisand is leaving New York (hello?!) by rail, taxi and boat in an orange dress and fur coat.)

One day, I'll hear "Have a great time!" I know it's coming.

You see, it's quote-unquote dangerous for a black/female/single person/American/middle-age woman/solo traveler to be out there alone.

I could be jailed/kidnapped/sold into slavery/forced into prostitution/robbed/beaten/raped/cut

in

that war zone/Panama/Guatemala/the South/the jungle/that place where they eat cats/that foreign country

where I shouldn't

talk to strangers/eat the food/drink the water/wander off/touch the animals/go to the jungle/go out after dark/be.

Never mind that I've traveled alone in more than 100 cities. Never mind that I grew up in the 'Hood and am street smart. Never mind that I've been living alone--in seven states--for decades. Never mind that I'm an Informed. Veteran. Journalist. Never mind.

I gotta fly once, I gotta try once,
Only can die once, right, sir?
Ooh, life is juicy, juicy and you see,
I gotta have my bite, sir.

Shhhh. Listen to Ms. Streisand.