Vacation Reservations

I tend to assess my life in increments of adventure. My family are travelers, wanderers of the globe. We often wind up in the oddly gourmet cafe bar at the end of the road sooner than the rest, but our adventures rarely disappoint, even when we can’t rent the bike and the cobblestones are slick with rain.

Wide eyed, I have gratefully seen the world this way, but it’s not a restful vacation. It’s more like a mad dash to see how very much of anything we can absorb (or miss). The architecture, river cruising, park rambling, monument wandering or family visiting, are thrilling, yes, but also draining.

I’m not complaining. I love every minute of our touring. It’s a rhythm we’ve formulated and pace pretty well. Free breakfast, to national museum, to lunch, to tourist trap, to ice cream, nap, topped off with dinner and dessert, all before I turn into a pumpkin at 9:00pm. Our best journeys take weeks to recover from.

Years ago, I went to relax with a beach going friend. We came early, parked close, and dragged our piles of equipment to her “spot.” The eastern Long Island white shores rival any sands I’ve stumbled onto. It was breathtaking. After a very relaxing fifteen minutes, I tried to anxiously not worry that I would be there all day taking on more and more sunburn and sand. 

I wanted to relax, watching the coastal dunes and waves doing their essential work of erosion. When did they ever get a break? I breathed in the salt air, took in the children playing and the waves crashing like my friend painted, but I missed it, my vibe and discomfort firmly set at electrocute. Needless to say, she never invited me back. Not that I would have said yes.

I’ve since slowed it all down, pulled in and lightened up. I became curious. Could I take a break and come back stronger? I have heard of people doing that. I chose to consciously vacation from writing the Kate Chronicles, and mindfully see where it took me. 

I gave myself a short window to enjoy having written for a change. I wanted to see if my imposter syndrome was well deserved. The answer is, sometimes. Which lands me at a pedestrian humanity I was really hoping I was beyond, but have grown surprisingly relieved to embrace. 

After two weeks, here’s what I’ve managed by stepping away:

1. I thought about all the things I wanted to write, which brought me to my work in progress novel. It’s a made up story about made up people. I didn’t delve into any emotion, scrape my bad habits or revelations the way I usually do. On paper, anyway.

2. I drove 22 hours over four days to Virginia to pick up one kid and visit the other who is working in a resort out of Edelweiss in the Shenandoah Valley. We got to catch up with them both, solidifying my great desire to spend time with my adult children. I wish I’d been just as sure of the charming, caring men they’d become when they were younger. I might have gone easier on us all.

3. Procrastinated all sorts of chores as usual, but suspended the self hatred. And now that I have, I wonder if punishment or self loathing were ever good motivators for me? They only keep me from enjoying what I’m going, or not going to do, in any given moment. 

4. I said yes to things I might have thought myself too busy for—like belly dancing. Oh, who am I kidding? Vacation or not, I am not about to resist the siren song of new friends and rhythmic belts jangling over the part of my body that otherwise offers me the most shame?

5. My inner critic took over, screaming lazy and worthless in my head one day. I went right back to my meditation practice—a thing I’d let slip by. The brain functions like a muscle. If you don’t train it, you’re relying on genetics. In my case that leaves me a talented, funny, mostly kind but acutely sensitive and an overall neurotic, selfish mess. Better to stay current on the mental push ups.

6. I let go of my ever expanding list of ways I could feel better, and just felt better—a miraculous course shift for me.

A few unintended surprises:

1. While I felt like I was stretching for a Friday essay three weeks ago, ideas slowly grew and came to me like popcorn left to heat in a pan.

2. I opened myself to what was happening in its moment. Somehow a waterfall is richer when you step your whole body into it, instead of focussing on metaphors you can use to describe it later.

3. Like any well placed intermission, this vacation provided space to absorb what’s happened so far, to compare notes with a stranger on line to the bathroom, and to take a quick sip of some watered down drinks before the lights go down and you see what happens next.

I like to pose at least one challenge to myself on each vacation. This one was the relaxation itself. The oceans are near boiling and pavement burns. Who knows how long we’ll get to keep this up? I will chronicle it, but I don’t claim to control it. Not anymore, anyway. 

My dear readers, I wish you a happy, climate controlled, restful summer, no matter your destination.