There are a few basic things that I expect of vacation – that it will be free of stress, that I will get rest, and that I’ll have more time to do the things that I enjoy. My vacations never fulfill those expectations. Instead, I experience stress, come home more tired than I left and never spend much time exercising, writing, or playing the guitar. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’ve got kids, lots of them, but I think there are other factors at work.
Stress comes with vacation because there’s lots of pressure associated with preparing clients and adversaries for my absence, a frequent pull on my attention while I’m gone, and a big pile of unpleasant stuff to work through that accumulates while I’m away. Traveling itself carries a certain amount of stress, and there’s always the juggling of family members’ competing expectations and needs.
On my normal day at home, I’m out of bed between 5:00 and 5:30, and I go back to bed around 10:30 or 11:00. By the time Friday rolls around, I’m pretty exhausted and try to catch up a bit on the weekend. You’d think that on vacation I’d get more sleep, and maybe I do, but I certainly don’t feel more rested. Something about the different bed, the travel, or the active days in the hot sun drain me of a lot of energy.
During my regular life, I fantasize about having long periods of time to pursue my passions, but once I’m out of my routine, and not exercising in the pre-dawn hours, reading my Bible before the phone starts to ring, or frenetically blogging during spare moments in the day, I generally end up letting the day pass without doing any of those things. It is, as the title of my post suggests, ironic.
Still, I enjoy vacations and work very hard to make them happen. You might wonder why given my frustrations.
What I did do on vacation last week was sit on a beautiful beach watching my kids play in the surf and sand, play two rounds of golf, visit a museum and aquarium, ride a ferry and introduce my kids to Bocce and Risk. In short, on vacation I did a lot of things that I rarely do.
My favorite evening at the beach was when I cajoled the whole family (12 of us, including my in-laws, niece, and nephew) to participate in a talent show. No one was excluded, not the two-year-olds, and not the skeptical 60+ year olds. Granted, we stretched the term “talent” a little bit, but that’s what made it fun. My son Jack gave a demonstration on the game of Bocce, Toria demonstrated how long she could hold a plank (I don’t know if I spelled that right, it’s some sort of yoga thing, and I’m not a yoga guy), and I did the more conventional guitar and song. My favorite, though, was when 2-year-old Grace Anne did ballet. She’s not taken any ballet, but she’s watched her older sister practice. Grace Anne was wearing a long white dress and danced to a beautiful song. She looked cherubic, and danced with surprising grace.
We laughed a lot, played games, talked and enjoyed a lot of memorable experiences. When my kids look back on their childhood, I suspect that weeks like the one we enjoyed at the beach will stand out in relief against the sameness of the frenetic life of a school year in the Atlanta suburbs.
I’m thinking it’s time to change my metrics for measuring a successful vacation. I think, for now, our vacations are primarily about creating memories, and strengthening the bonds that make us a family. Using that measure, and adjusting my expectations, I think I’ll be able to enjoy the moments that are rather than resenting the moments that aren’t.
