Several weeks ago, John and I discovered we had practically the same idea forming in our respective heads. Like a secret pregnancy, who would have thought that the conception and gestation of such a thought could have gone unsuspected by the other until it had arms and legs and its own heart beat? I think he told me first, although I quickly reacted with my own admission. “That’s funny,” I said. “I’ve been thinking that it would be great for us to take a vacation together Christmastime, too.”

The idea seemed very logical and all — neither of us have work at the time, no standing family obligations, and we both have a little reserve cash just for such a purpose. But the bottom line is that taking a vacation with someone is a big step. Besides the fact that we’d be in each other’s face pretty much 24/7, trekking through airport security, getting lost together, or otherwise hanging out in a veritable state of sleep deprivation, even before we’d leave, we needed to make plans together.

I recall the words of Daniel Burnham, Chicago’s pioneering city planner. “Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood.” Yet, often these little plans, like developing travel itineraries, are wired to deeply rooted preferences or dreams we carry inside and sorting them out with your significant other can create unexpected stresses or expose cracks in what appears to be a pretty idyllic partnership.

Where should we go? After not having money to go on a trip outside of North America for decades, I had no shortage of bucket list destinations. I wanted to see Machu Picchu. I wanted to shop in a Turkish bazaar and visit the caves in Cappadocia. John wanted to re-visit Italy and sample red wine and the finest rustic cuisine. The notion of leaning over the perfect bowl of pasta and sauce, I think, transported him emotionally to somewhere just this side of heaven. We decided on Spain as our primary destination, mostly because neither of us had been there before and it seemed right to have a new experience together, and we agreed to end the trip with a few days in Paris because, hey, it’s Paris.

The idea of taking this vacation together operated pretty much on this plane, as an idea, for weeks. I borrowed a Fodor’s book on Spain from the library and both of us stuck post-its between pages or made mental notes about destinations that captured our interest. But no reservations had been made, no agreements had to be reached; not until this past weekend. Sunday night, we took out our calendars, skimmed through our Fodor’s notes and sat with John’s laptop to actually check on hotels and train schedules.

As we probably should have expected, after two adventurous souls had not taken a two-week, just for fun vacation in almost thirty years, we both wanted to do more than what could be done in fifteen days. I wanted to get a feeling for different regions and visit destinations that friends took in over three-week adventures. John wanted to make sure we got to stop in Provence on the way to Paris and have the experience of staying with a family friend who actually lived in one of the most beautiful areas of the world. We had to face the reality of time and distance.

Spain has a wonderful network of trains that connects almost any city or village, but you can’t get to anywhere from everywhere, or at least not quickly, not with high speed trains. For us to go from Spain to France, we pretty much had to leave from Barcelona or Madrid. For us to get a fast train from southern Spain, we had to go from Malaga. Prior to this exercise, I really didn’t have an idea how long it would take to travel by train from one city to another. Like the relationship itself, we had to discover ways to work with reality and get our needs and wants met.

Okay, so we would be eating our twelve grapes on New Year’s Eve in Malaga instead of Barcelona as I imagined. We talked about lodging in Barcelona and taking a side trip to Montserrat. Hunched over his laptop, his fingers whirred as he bookmarked some package deals on hotels in the Ciutat Vella, the old city. As he opened screen pages on his PC, alternating between travel sites and train schedules, I sat beside him with a yellow legal pad writing down, and then scratching out and re-writing, dates and destinations. Okay, from Madrid we’ll go to Seville. From Seville, we’ll go to Granada….

It was working. We hashed things out. I was feeling very lucky that he was so web savvy. I climbed behind him on the couch and started rubbing his neck and shoulders; a small reward for hours spent stooped over his laptop. We talked about luggage and the winter weather in Aix-en-Provence. I announced my intention to buy a new pair of boot-like walking shoes. We shared a glass of Garnacha, a good Spanish red.

Making small plans with your favorite companion is no small thing.