My seven-woman friend group successfully managed homes, careers, and raised children to adulthood, but found ourselves ill-prepared as the challenges of caring for aging parents only got harder. Ranging in age from 56–64, some of us had already lost a mother or father. We felt the toll as diseases, including Alzheimer’s, wiped away the once sharp minds and able bodies of those who used to care for us. There were constant demands for new specialists, higher levels of care, and more treatments.
Collectively depleted, we agreed that a week away from our busy lives in Richmond would be an ideal way to refuel. We met over a happy hour and scoured the globe for a destination that offered a balance of cultural experiences and self-care opportunities. Greece, with its combination of ancient history and slower-paced islands, won our hearts. Using a referral, we found a Greece-based travel agent and shared our goal: a mix of cultural experiences and history, R&R opportunities, a safe homebase with our own rooms, an ocean view, and walkability to local cafés. Were we asking for the moon? “No problem,” the travel agent said. The itinerary she created was spot on. Even better, our Greek escape would be no more costly than renting a house for a week at Virginia Beach.
Dubbing ourselves “The Greek Goddesses,” we arrived for two nights in Athens. Despite temperatures soaring to triple digits, we felt energized to take on the Acropolis. Covered in sunblock and with water bottles in hand, we climbed steps carved from 30-million-year-old limestone to some of the most brilliant, architecturally significant buildings in the world. We learned about the cycles of war and annihilation that defined the landscape, and shook our heads at the losses—human lives, art, and artifacts—that were its spoils.
Our guide explained that each set of conquerors destroyed what the previous inhabitants valued—sculptures, paintings, temples—because they no longer aligned with the new ruling ideology. Among the greatest losses was the destruction of a 38-foot-tall statue of Athena, once housed in the Parthenon, made with a ton of gold. Born full-grown from the forehead of her father, Zeus, she was the ultimate warrior goddess, revered for her wisdom, sense of justice, and devotion to non-violence as preferable to battle. This formidable warrior was our kind of friend, we decided.
Our final night in Athens, while walking back to the hotel, we stumbled on a singer belting pop songs from the sidewalk. We joined the crowd and danced to Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, and Elton John, ending the evening with ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” When had we last felt so carefree? Young and sweet, only 17 …
The more relaxing leg of our holiday meant a ferry to the breathtaking island of Paros, where our twin four-bedroom rentals overlooked the clear, turquoise Aegean. There, we settled down in side-by-side beach houses, spending time alone and together, walking, swimming, resting, exploring, drinking, reading, and eating. Mini-jaunts found us visiting the bustling port-city of Naoussa, hiking the Byzantine Trail, tasting olive oil (tip: if it burns the back of your throat, it’s high quality), and sipping sunset cocktails—post-massage—at a spa-resort built into waterfront cliffs on Antiparos.
Our vacation fed us mightily. Having hit pause on our lives at home, we nurtured our souls and fostered our friendships. We knew that losing people we loved was coming. First more parents and then, based on statistics, we acknowledged the reality that women live the longest. Since we’d likely be the ones left standing, it was a relief to know that by strengthening our “goddess” network, we wouldn’t be left standing alone.
Eight days passed quickly. While it was hard to say goodbye to our respite by the sea, our bodies and minds were at peace, our cups full. Seemingly from the ancient wisdom of Athena herself, we summoned the strength and patience needed to deal with all that awaited us.
Once back in Richmond, a good friend quipped that traveling with seven women must’ve been like a Real Housewives episode: filled with lots of drama. Did cat fights crop up? Cliques?
The short answer? No. He couldn’t have been more wrong, I told him. Our posse consistently put the group before individual needs, rarely complained (despite post-op back pain, seasickness, and an oozing separated toenail), and worked hard to compromise.
When he shot me a disappointed smirk, I smiled beatificantly and remembered our new friend, Athena, wondering what the world would look like today if women had run it from the beginning.
Illustration by Adam Larkum. This article originally appeared in the October 2025 issue.
