Exploring the Savage Lands

of Family Vacation.

As a family we excel at highly active adventures involving explorations of culture or nature in foreign locales.

Chillaxing on the beach vacations where we have to downshift from fifth gear to second is… cause for anxiety. Doing so family-style with little alone time replicates the approximate danger of starving lions.

Especially when there are birdfeeders to be hung at home, hydrangea trees to be planted and a tree house to designed.

We like doing. We like being. But NOT being as a replacement for doing.

I will never forget being asked at a poetry conference to transport United States Poet Laureate, Robery Pinsky, to an event. As we walked toward the car the topic of tennis came up.

He mentioned that many of his friends had been telling him he needed to get away from all the writing stress, find a way to relax– an enjoyable hobby. So he took up tennis. But it turns out he didn’t really like tennis.

He realized after a couple of years that writing IS what relaxes him.

What relaxes one person does NOT necessarily relax another.

The confusing part is when the thing that used to relax you no longer does.

This makes you feel like you’ve somehow failed to be a good vacationer. Failed at being consistent with where you like to go, what you like to do and for how LONG. Failed to be faithful to a location you’ve loved all your life.

What ensues is an overwhelming sense of dread, followed by panic, self-loathing, disappointment, disgust, distress, bewildered resignation– followed soon after by the predictable fun-loving fight or flight response.

We considered going home on day three. Homicidal fantasies on day four.

Ahhh, the joys of getting away.

The abstract feeling of unease tried to point the finger at specific problems. Here are the current issues.

No proper gym and my knees are hurting from running too much. Forgot mega-hydrating moisturizer that keeps me from looking like a wrinkly raisin. No predictable schedule. No tasks to accomplish. Forgot fifteen-pound weights and workout videos for when it rains.

Low-grade terror rumbles right beneath the surface.

Self-judgment right beneath that. What kind of unadventurous, up-tight lamo can’t ease on into vacation mode? Seriously? The gorgeous unspoiled beaches of Nantucket are hardly cause for terror.

And certainly wouldn’t qualify for roughing it.

But, the issues are never really the issue.

The problem is not how I can remain caged in my old self’s conception of what it means to vacation? Or what American culture tells me it should look like. The problem is one of reinvention.

Who am I now? Who are we as a family now?

Sounds a bit self-indulgent and potentially like analytical overkill.

So, what? We are going to find ourselves?

Is it really all that necessary? No. Certainly not!

We can always continue on our current treadmill. And my super strong initial instinct is always to do just that. My mind, given long enough, can always recreate the essential elements that make me feel in control and at ease and comfort my mind into thinking everything is okay.

I can substitute an alternative interest to keep busy. Find a new activity to stay occupied. Push-ups can replace weights.

But it still leaves me with a low-grade sense of not quiet right. There remains a slightly sad feeling of still treading water.

A sixth sense that I am still not home.

The nice thing about being in my mid-forties is that I finally know the issues, whatever they appear to be, are simply symptoms I am homesick.

I love my family but i also need time by myself or I lose my center. I like the boisterous sound of all of us together but I need the quiet of just the birds and I. I like playing Kadina on the beach but I also need to write. I like relaxing as a counterpoint.

Not THE point.

The trick is not trying to trick myself into liking something I don’t.