Splashing & laughing vs. litter & yelling

Last week, I wrote about almost coming unhinged by plans to mellow out and take a vacation.

It was after I got back though that I started to see the light.

I don't mean that figuratively. I am referring to the light on the lake near my home. I pass the lake everyday, at least twice a day. On the way to work, on the way home and on the way to most stores, I pass it.

It’s a beautiful lake. If you’re going to take a landmark for granted, it’s a nice one to have.

Sometimes when I drive by, I’ll see service vans, buses and kids’ bikes parked facing it.

Sometimes, I am smart enough not to pass it by.

One day last week, I pulled up to it and parked to wait for my wife and son who were 15 minutes behind me. I thought of my Chicago trip.

Last week’s column detailed the harried details of the trip that I tried to call a vacation.

I was so consumed with the preparations the vacation ended with me wondering, "Did I relax enough? Was I rejuvenated?"

I was still asking myself these questions as I sat parked in front of the lake. I watched the busyness in front of me. Kids were running back and forth to the water--the water splashing. The kids' parents were barely moving in their chairs.

My thoughts slowed down to about the speed of lazy toes in the sand. I felt myself relax a bit.

I backed off of the visual details in front of me. As a way of tamping down my thoughts, I tried to turn the scene into a two-dimensional work of art.

Instead of seeing people--my neighbors--reading books, sipping drinks and watching kids, my mind glossed over them, let them slip into the landscape. In other words, I zoned out.

As the picture in front of me flattened out, I felt myself relaxing a little more. The light quietly dancing on the ripples in the water caught my attention.

Instead of seeing the ice cream sandwich wrappers, beach towels and sunblock strewn across the hot sand, I saw sunbeams in cool water. Instead of parents yelling at their children to stay close, I heard the kids laughing.

Sometimes my wife requests vacations where we do nothing, just sit somewhere with drinks. I argue that I don’t see the point. I always think that sounds like a waste of time.

Now I see the point.

It's a way of letting things even out without you. Taking time to do nothing allows you to disengage, like turning the details of life into scenery. You can extract yourself--even if it's only for a little bit.

Killing myself to have a relaxing vacation

Vacation was on the horizon. I worked myself silly writing and editing so that I could take a week off. I typed away until my fingers went numb.

But I didn't mind. I had high hopes for this vacation. I was heading to Chicago to see a friend get married and I was looking forward to showing my wife around the Windy City.

I had a lot of fun on previous trips: the Chicago Blues Festival, deep dish pizza, the impressive "L" (an elevated train that rides above the streets), the House of Blues, the Navy Pier...

The typing started to wear me out, so I added another agenda item to the week. I banned myself from typing. I type when I am at work and I type in my spare time for fun.

Besides this column, I write music articles, have five blogs and I run a literary magazine. My favorite pastime is writing poetry. And did I mention the daily tweeting on Twitter?

My hands needed a break. On top of all of that I had one more goal for the week. It was the most important one. I wanted to make a point of spending time with my wife.

My parents were going to watch our son. That made the trip a rare opportunity for my wife and me to focus on each other for a change. So that is what I had in mind for Chicago.

With all of that squared away, I was going to be light and breezy for the week—not the overdriven perfectionist that usually huffs around my house wearing my clothes. I was going to prove that I could be freewheeling.

However, the only way that I was going to be able to mellow out was if I had a clean house to come back to. So, there was a cleaning frenzy.

By the time the house, cars and yard were all in shipshape and all of my last minute tasks were checked off, I was running to make the plane.

That's OK, I thought. For the rest of vacation, I'll be taking it easy.

Of course, that would be after we found a rental car, stopped at a local store for more supplies and unpacked.

The whirlwind would surely calm down once we successfully juggled time to meet up with my wife's friends and mine. Next thing I knew, the wheels of our return flight were hitting the ground in Newark.

Did I miss something? We had a great time—went to the blues festival and had great pizza. I showed my wife the “L” from below but the Pier would have to wait until next time. The wedding was fantastic. The dance music at the reception seemed to match the pace at which I was vibrating.

Did I feel refreshed? I wondered as I headed back to work. I didn't have time to dig too deeply for the answer though. The first week back at work would be like the week leading up to vacation—I'd have to be moving at a breakneck pace.

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