I’m supposed to be on vacation right now.
Eight weeks ago I asked off for November 2 – 6 and planned a lovely solo trip to Boulder. But then some tragic personal circumstances occurred (the dozenth time this year) and I cancelled. I forced myself to take two days off at the time to emotionally recover, but failed to replan a new vacation.
So, tonight my cozy goal was to take at least a basic step towards that new trip. I haven’t had a pure, solo vacation since about this time last year; setting the tragedy aside, I am due. Vacations are important to me because I put in a lot of hours at work and several volunteer commitments. When I’m off work, I vanish.
But, it’s hard. I come up with so many reasons to delay. I hem over the timing and how it might possibly effect my team: should I go at the start of the sprint or more towards the middle? I haw over the money: can I truly afford to go, or will I put a good portion of the trip on credit? I dwell on a detail: should I leave from Atlanta or Nashville?
I delayed. I did all sorts of boring things, including cleaning my desktop and balancing my checkbook. Rock bottom for reluctance.
Eventually I came around and searched for flights. This required picking a date and a destination. Two things down: December. Atlanta, to Austin, Texas.
What of the price? Oh, for those dates? Not bad at all, and even better using miles.
I looked at some photos I took the last time I was there and thought about how peaceful and happy I was. I rented a car and spent several days driving hours in all four directions to different state parks. At Pedernales I stretched out on the moonrocks and listened to the water. At Guadalupe River I stayed so late I got spooked by shadows.
I’m a little closer to booking the trip.