You’re never too old to get homesick, apparently.

I found this out during my post-divorce tropical vacation. Balmy temperatures, fruity drinks poolside at the luxury resort, and all I wanted was to go back to Chicago.

The dissolution of my marriage had been a whole bunch of no-fun. Tim and I had called it quits after 16 years. Now I was single, in my late 40s, with only distant memories of how to date or even flirt like I meant it. I had gotten the house in the settlement, and I thought about cutting my holiday short to return to the familiar setting.

I decided to stay one more day, but I would shake things up. The resort felt fake to me, like a grand-scale dollhouse.

So I ducked out.

I put on a pair of ragged cutoffs, sandals and a bikini top, and then rented a grungy scooter from... Read More