I’m going to Scotland. 

Not today, obviously. Or tomorrow. Or in 2021.  

Or in 2022. 

Maybe 2024? 

That feels depressingly far away. 

Well, everything is relative anyway, isn’t it? After all, my teenager graduates high school in 2024. Panic strikes when I think of the clothes towering in her hamper and her reluctance to use a stove. I only have three years to turn her into a functioning adult, someone her roommates won’t want to kill.  

Three years doesn’t feel like enough time. 

But three years before I’m standing on Scotland’s craggy grounds? That feels like a lifetime. 

I have long desired to visit the British Isles. But this need for Scotland was kicked into high gear this month thanks to a little bingeing. 

I spent the waning weeks of 2020 plowing through the latest season of Outlander. If you don’t know anything about Outlander, I have three words that tell you all you need to know: 

Naked Scottish Guy. 

The plot, although wonderful, is completely irrelevant for our purposes here.

All you need to know is the main character is a very adorable and charming Scottish gent who shies away from neither kilts nor shedding them. 

Now, Outlander hasn’t been set in Scotland for several seasons. But it does start there. Scotland infuses every corner of the show, like candlelight illuminating dark corners. 

When this desire to see Scotland first rippled through my brain, I tried to reign it in. Planning such an excursion in a pandemic that’s hardly over felt ridiculous. 

Then the book popped up in my Instagram feed. 

The book. Naturally, I follow the oft-naked Scottish guy on social media. An early January post featured him and one of his co-stars, Scotland falling away behind them as they dominated the foreground in a motorcycle and sidecar. 

And they were wearing kilts.  

Guys, what is it about a kilt? 

I’m thinking about my husband in a kilt and it really does not evoke the same reaction – even though he’s just as adorable as the Scottish guy. 

The kilt/motorcycle post described a documentary about Scotland, filmed by and featuring my Highland crush. Kilts and whisky appear to be amply featured. 

There’s also an associated book. 

So yes. I bought the book. 

My restraint unmoored, I curled up into a corner of my sofa with my treasure. The first thing discussed in the book was an inn situated in Glencoe, Scotland. A whisky tasting takes place. 

I’m not really one for whisky, but I’d make the sacrifice for my Scottish tour. 

I Googled the inn, needing to verify its existence, that it wasn’t as fantastical as Outlander. Not only does it exist, but it’s a stone’s throw from a lake I’ve wanted to see all my life. 

Loch Ness, because although I don’t believe in the loch’s famous monster, I don’t not believe in it either. 

Now my travel fantasy had fully escaped my control. I put a copy of a Scotland travel guide on hold at the library. I began planning my itinerary. 

Over dinner, I casually asked my family what they’d like to do once the pandemic ends. Sleepovers and trips to the Outer Banks dominated their wish lists. 

I dropped Scotland on them, ice dropped into a dram of whisky. I outlined our itinerary. Visit an old family friend. Hunt the Loch Ness Monster. Traverse Edinburgh and Inverness. 

The dissent was a chorus. Chief among them my husband, who grumbled over the expense. My Outlander Scotsman joyfully embraces life, unencumbered by worry and angst. Not so my husband, who is more than a little German. Our shared Teutonic heritage means we are practical to a fault. 

That also may be why only Scots look so delicious in a kilt. 

Were my plans dashed by the curmudgeons in my kitchen? They were not. The New York Times says these pandemic fantasies are important. They fuel us when we’re struggling. They give us hope. 

I’m just hoping to see a few guys in kilts. 

Last weekend, I settled into the first episode of that Scotland travelogue. My husband repeatedly abandoned his book about an Arctic expedition to watch my documentary. I made a point of emphasizing the beauty of the Highland terrain. 

If he can enjoy a book about an Arctic expedition, surely he can appreciate the slightly friendlier Scottish landscape. 

To my surprise, he commented positively on Scotland, the food, even my Outlander Scotsman. 

Enough to agree to a trip? 

Possibly. Just wait until he finds out about all the whisky.