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.