I Hate Vacation
I have crossed over. I feel like life is one great crossing-over after the next right now - having a little son is beautiful, and also a turbulent ride into the fog on a leaky boat. Most recently, I have crossed over into the well-worn territory of Parents Who Hate Vacation. Vacation is terrible. After all those years of being a condemner of everything scheduled and banal, I now crave the scheduled and banal. I am fine with that. I do not want our sleeping and eating and familiar smells and quiet reading time interrupted, not for fireworks or relatives or presents or the ocean. Not even for a day. (Well, maybe for the ocean.) But here is a secret I have learned: if I place the weight of all that scheduled banality on one side of the scale and a single second of peering into my son’s eyes on the other, there is balance. The freedom and chaos and relentless thirst of my former life, the spontaneous combusting, the deep sea diving, the vacation taking, is still here. It is distilled into twin pools so deep and intense that every single adventure of my youth can fit inside. All I have to do is sit still and look. This is, in fact, all I can do. The wild abyss I sought to snatch little glimpses of for so long is right here in front of me, wide open, and now I must learn to keep myself from being absorbed by it entirely.
I'm the Executive Director of Richmond Young Writers. richmondyoungwriters.com