“I am unwritten; Can’t read my mind, I’m undefined; I’m just beginning; The pen’s in my hand, ending: unplanned”

A brisk breeze touches my face, showing me the ageless urban architecture below. Beautiful stone masonry. Soot-stained buildings, chimney pots that were once a sign of wealth and prestige. Historic landmarks and the streets where avid readers could envision Jamie Fraser and Rubeus Hagrid walking.

Bundled in layers, a winter jacket, and a tartan scarf of my ancestry, I bask in its glory; first in silly poses as we take photos of each other. Then, as I sit on the edge of the hill, on the sun-warmed dry ground. New-to-me sensations, discovered the previous evening, take hold.

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Freedom.

Independence.

The memory takes precedence.

We stand in the cul-de-sac outside Edinburgh Castle just after the sun has set. It’s just us, plus a handful of stragglers, hypnotized by its magnificence. Just yonder is the Royal Mile, the city centre, and Waverly Market, which holds the stores and fast-food restaurants of today; old meets new.

I can’t believe we are standing here. Two women. Fiercely independent. A decades-long friendship and my favorite travel companion. Just us.

Just us.

Without him.

He previously planned envy-worthy trips around the world primarily based on his desires. He meticulously calculated every excursion and expense. A transaction for every detail. What appeared as freewheeling was actually noted in precise ledgers. No room for error, nor frivolousness. And if his intentions were altered or not met, temper tantrums ensued. Sometimes they turned to threats or the silent treatment. We all fell in line.

It took a moment today when I felt the release like water droplets evaporating against the heat of the air. The suffocating and agonizing weight of his control in my previous life instantaneously dissipated. Poof.

We stood at the tram station ordering tickets. I swiped my credit card and took the receipt, tucking it into an unused pocket in my wallet. I will keep documents here, I told myself. We’ll settle at the end.

“I’ll get the next one,” she casually said.

It took several more purchases like this until I understood: this vacation isn’t about transactions. It’s about us, our freedom, our independence.

Poof.

As the night settles and the stars come out, I see the message: fun, friendship.

To stand here tonight, we maneuvered hiccups, challenges, and glided on faith that it would all work out. Today, we are proof that we can do it. We don’t need him. We refuse to function under his merciless control.

We are free. We are independent.

Poof.

Now, on this hilltop, I feel it again. To get to this exact spot, we stood just south of the city centre agonizing over Google directions on my cell phone. A woman, who claimed she is a tour guide, came to our rescue. She pointed to directions, offered suggestions, and gave her figurative two cents.

We followed her instructions, first to a hike, then to a historic cemetery, and here to the park at Calton Hill.

We’re not the only ones here. Tourists and residents alike enjoy the rare sunshine. Children and dogs run free. Others picnic and some perch themselves on the “fake” Parthenon, a national monument and nod to commemorate Scottish soldiers who died during Napoleonic Wars. It’s jokingly referred to as fake since it’s a failed attempt to copy a full-scale replica of the famous Greek structure. Only twelve columns stand. Funding to finish it ran out in 1829. Through the years, there were talks of completing it but nothing came to fruition.

I turn around. “That’s next. We’re going up there.” I point and say to her.

We walk around the monument realizing there’s not an official way up. No stairs. No ladder. I find a crack in the crevice, I place one hiking boot in, place my hand flat on the concrete surface above my head, and attempt to pull myself up. With sheer determination, I manage to put mere centimeters between myself and the ground.

Bystanders around me and the monument offer help. I wave them away. “I can do this,” I say to eavesdropping ears.

Only I can’t.

After too many failed attempts, maneuvering my grip and foot placements, I succumb to defeat.

She, who is now looking down on me, offers her hand, while others push me up.

Freedom and Independence make way for an emotion that has saved me infinite times in recent months: the ability to ask for help.

Again, I stand proud. With my best friend at my side, we are free, authentic, and living our best lives.