Friday, July 07, 2006


I’m not sure I really know how to be on vacation. Maybe it’s because I never am.

It seems to me that, at its core, vacation ought to be about vacating—emptying out, creating space, allowing whatever may happen to happen. Ironically, most of us—and here I mean mostly me—try to fill up the space as soon as it appears.

Instead of vacation, this ought to be called “occupation“ (which is probably where both words come from, isn’t it?)

The image I have of a real vacation is of Huck Finn floating down the Mississippi on his raft. But then again, he was plenty busy there, hiding Jim, avoiding capture, and so on, so maybe he wasn’t really vacating, either.

I’ve pretty much failed at the stoner vacation, thing; it’s been a couple weeks since I managed the full wake n’ bake; again, there’s too much occupying my life to really make that feasible.

It’s not that what is filling up my time is all that vital: errands to run, chores to do, this all-important blog to write; somehow, though, the days get busy and stuff I think I need to do has to get done, or more often, doesn’t because something else gets in the way.

Alas, this is the human condition, I suppose: unmet aspirations, failed projects, but hopefully, some sense of acceptance of all that coulda, woulda, shoulda.

I’m trying to take sense as the essence of my vacationing. So what if the lawn doesn’t get mowed? Too bad if I’ve got no clean clothes. Does it really matter if the chain on my bike squeaks a little? I’ll get around to all that eventually; right now, I’m occupied by other concerns.

For instance, as I type, the kid has just called from upstairs to tell me she’s hungry and would wants some oatmeal for breakfast.

So here’s an opportunity of fill up time, space, and the kid’s belly all in one fell swoop.


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