Getting away, real life, and perspective

Last week at this time, I was drinking my morning coffee here:

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And walking here:

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And exploring here:

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And admiring these:

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It wasn’t technically a vacation for Mike, who was there for a TIAA Cref conference … but for myself, who tagged along just for the fun of it, didn’t have to sit in on any sessions about benefit options, and never once uttered any words like “fiduciary”… it was ALL vacation.

Vacations are weird.  There’s no better way to say that.  We got on a plane, we flew across the country… and real life ceased to exist.  For nearly an entire week our biggest problem (um, except for my temporary crisis that shall not be talked about) was deciding between Mexican and Italian for dinner.  Or what movie we were going to watch.  Or how much we should tip the tour guide.  Or which seashells we’d be taking home as a souvenir.

It was lovely and relaxing and it renewed my spirit.

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Things like bills?  Doctor’s appointments?  Errands?  Housework?  Crazy schedules?  Nope.  They were forgotten.  Existing only in some alternate reality that applied to other people.  Not me.

The night before we headed home from Marco Island, I started getting grumpy.  That same grumpy feeling I get on Sunday evenings when Mike’s been home for a particularly nice long weekend and has to go back to work the next morning.   That.  But multiplied by a factor of ten.

I couldn’t wait to see and hug my kids (who’d been enjoying their own vacation with their grandparents), but the real life…. stuff… that was also waiting for our return?  Not quite as excited for that part.

It wasn’t until we were on the plane, somewhere between Ft Myers and Minneapolis, that it hit me.  The only reason I hadn’t worried about any of life’s little distractions going on at home was that I chose (whether consciously or subconsciously) not to.   And if I could choose to do that in Florida, couldn’t I choose to do it in Phoenix?

The world hadn’t stopped spinning.  Nothing had changed.

My mortgage still has the same number of zeroes no matter what side of the country I’m on.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve had such a realization (and I’m sure it won’t be the last), but I found my sudden epiphany freeing.  I don’t need white sand or palm trees to rest… in either mind, body, or soul.  It’s a choice, and it’s always been a choice.

When we’d landed safely back in Phoenix, I breathed in the dry desert air with gratitude.  Home feels good.  And when we walked in the house and were immediately met with an ant situation, I couldn’t help but laugh.  It’s all part of the experience.

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