My husband was disappointed that the surprise had been ruined, but nonetheless, expressed delight once I agreed that I never would have guessed the location.
My own enthusiasm, on the other hand, was somewhat tempered by the anxiety I began to feel about traveling to a remote place in Maine. You may wonder why the anxiety when Maine is such a beautiful state. But there was, for me, one very significant reason - skin color.
I am a multifaceted woman of mixed heritage, but despite any talent, skill or positive personality trait I may have, others seem only to care about, and constantly remind me that at the end of the day, I am above all a woman of color. Attempts are often made to put me in my place, and so I have, as a result, learned to carefully choose my vacation spots.
I knew that my husband, being of European decent and therefore born into white privilege, hadn't even thought to consider the issue of color when selecting this vacation spot. So as not to spoil his delight and appear ungrateful, I said nothing about this undercurrent of anxiety.
Maine is indeed lovely, a beautiful State. The island was also gorgeous - a welcome retreat from life in New York City. Miles of hiking trails, fresh air, and wildlife not native to New York provided a refreshing reprieve from life in the suburbs of my great, fast moving city built of concrete and steel.
But just about every single person I encountered in Maine and on the island was White. And so it happened that the sudden presence of a person of color on the island did not go unnoticed - not in the island's single grocery store, not in its only café, and certainly not in the 34-room inn where I held token status as the sole guest of color.
These then, became my daily challenges:
- feigning ease when strolling night after night and morning after morning into a inn's dead-silent dining room, which only seconds before having made my entrance could be heard buzzing with laughter, chatter and banter;
- determining how best to interpret and respond to the multitude of suffocating unblinking stares, scowls, and glares;
- deciding whether or not to make eye contact with passersby offering only transfixed stares and straight lines for mouths despite a warm smile or greeting on my part;
- quelling an increasing anxiety and fear built from repeated contact with unspoken hostility - a proud license plate with letters that spelled out a variation of the word "Redneck," the consistent and immediate transformation of eyes, mouths and faces into frowns upon catching sight of my skin color;
- but most of all, figuring out how to relax and enjoy myself when all around me nervous and/or hostile energy was being directed at me, and all this because of one thing - color.