By the time we left for our vacation a week ago, I was all done. I had been couped up in the house without a car for an entire week. And the extreme heat outside had made me feel like I was inside the lockdown again. Not cool. I no longer wanted to cook or entertain myself. I was sick of everything. I had been listening to what I needed to hear. And now I was done.
We left from Maryland on Tuesday, and I drove like a wild woman up the East Coast to get us to Rhode Island by dinner. Someone else’s house with someone else’s views and a couple of nice dinners out and I felt better. Not perpetually and automatically thinking the same exact thoughts in the same place is what I needed. And that’s what I got.
I didn’t do any journaling because that felt like work. I couldn’t read because there was always someone who needed me to respond to them. So, this was a family chill out vacation. Not that my husband didn’t get a bunch of alone time and somehow decided he had no dish duties. I think men just aren’t as compelled to oblige. So be it.
Best parts were seeing good art and artifacts at the art museum, playing card games with my family, watching my daughter enjoy the pool, and not having to do anything. I realize that my autopilot to feed and clean everyone is embedded. And the best thing I can do for myself is to just jump ship.
Being away also allowed me to think about all the things I don’t let myself think about. But with space. About creative tasks I might enjoy. About allowing the space to expand instead of limiting myself with endless shoulds.
Gaining perspective through the exclusion of the automatic process within the environment I am trapped in. That is the definition of vacation for me. And I need to make way more opportunities for this in my future.
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