It’s not the destination, it’s the journey, unless, of course you’re talking about vacation. In that case, it’s the work. Oddly enough, preparing to relax can drive a person nuts. It took me years to smarten up and realize that you don’t, in fact, need everything that’s not nailed down. Truth be told, the biggest things I personally require are the sound and smell of the ocean and good weather. The beach, a massage, and a trip to a yoga retreat are the only 3 things I’ve found that will ram relaxation down the throat of someone even as nervous as me.
We, as a family, have been blessed to find a great rental near our favorite beach at a reasonable rate. I love the fact that it comes with a kitchen, a parking space, and a washer and dryer. I could probably live there year round but sadly, we only get one week. The first year or two we had, of course, tried to stuff approximately eighty five per cent of our worldly possessions in the car. I tried to plan for every possible contingency for our then four year old, including a zombie apocalypse. Her majesty’s baggage alone could have had its own U-Haul. There were books, toys, and stuffed animals in phase one. Then our girl decided to “pack for herself” resulting in a negotiated “phase two” also known as one bag of more toys. This led to the subsequent “weeble fiasco” when we left to return home.
I don’t think we ever did find that fucking weeble but life somehow managed to go on. Mommy managed reasonably well most of the time. I’m a huge fan of lists, provided I remember where I put them. I’ve come to accept that no matter how well I plan, there’s always going to be something I forget. The best I can hope for is that it’s not too important. ( Do you know how much zombie flame throwers go for on the boardwalk?! You may as well sell the house!)
My spouse ‘s version of packing consists of a bathing suit, a handful of clean tighty whities and a barrage of questions. “Did we pack any bar soap?” “Do we have toothpaste?” “How about a hairbrush?” By “we”, he means “me”, the wife. I find myself frequently wondering how he made it to “adulthood”. I recall only giving birth to one of you. I’m sorry, but unless you’re cute, under five feet tall, and in grade school, you’re on your own.
I’m also in charge, apparently, of feeding the zoo. Whenever my daughter is hungry, she makes an announcement, expecting me to do something about it. After a while, I got sick of it and started answering “Nice to meet you hungry, I’m Barb.” This is usually followed by “MMMooooooooommmmm!!!!”
I’ve also read that anticipating a trip is actually the best part. It’s good to be sure but for me, the sound and smell of the ocean are two things I try to hang onto. The aftermath is the worst. It’s a lot like putting away the Christmas decorations forces you to admit the holiday is over. Maybe that’s why my husband would leave his luggage out all year without harassment but my money’s on laziness.
I unpack at a decent pace because our house is small and my daughter needs some shred of an example. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Every year I buy some obligatory souvenir in the forlorn hope that it will help me fight the “vacation’s over” blahs. I have yet to find one that’s done the trick but hope springs eternal. On the upside, there’s only fifty one weeks until our next vacation.