I treated my husband to a short walk down my memory lane
this morning. It is to his credit that he didn’t allow his eyes to glaze over
or his snoring to interrupt my story. I told a tale of visiting Miami as a
child, actually Hialeah, but we might have driven through fancy Miami
beach--just to see it. I helpfully listed the Florida relatives we visited and
their relations: Uncle Bert, who married Minnie and had sons Clayton, who
married Norma and Junior, who married Betty. Also, Aunt Mabel who never married
after her husband went down in a plane during WWII . . . and on and on like
that. I know--you’re about to snooze, too. I’ll move on.
The detour came up while I was talking about taking a trip
to Miami. I think I’ve only been the
one time and that memory is dim, but I may have been trying to justify my plans.
None of those relatives even live there anymore, although there’s an aunt I’d
love to catch up with in North Palm Beach. My parents and several cousins live
over on the west coast of Florida and inland, but for some reason I had Miami
Beach in my sights. As I talked
out loud about it, I began to understand why: I really don’t know anyone there.
Of course I love to visit friends and family, particularly
when they live in warm, sunny places and have guest bedrooms. What’s better
than that? However, my brain kept dragging me off to warm, sunny places in
which I couldn’t send a friendly email to anyone suggesting they might enjoy my
company for a few days. I think I
began looking up airfares the day I came across a rant on a woman’s Facebook
page that complained quite dramatically that she had been drained dry of giving to others
and was going to, basically, run away because she was sick of all the takers
around her. (No worries, dear readers, it wasn’t any of you. I was creeping strangers' Facebook pages. I know. It's a problem.) I thought she was
quite melodramatic about the whole thing and naturally her tirade garnered dozens
of messages from her friends, ranging from the sympathetic (“Don’t forget to be
good to yourself”) to the equally dramatic (“Don’t move! I’ll be right there!
Please be safe!!”) “Ho-hum”, I thought to myself, “so self-serving” and I moved
on to the pages of other people I don’t know who might be more positive and
entertaining.
Soon after, though, I began visiting Expedia on a daily
basis and getting familiar with Google maps-Miami. But it wasn’t until this
morning, when I hijacked my husband’s usually solo morning coffee to share with
him my plans for a trip, that I realized what I was doing. Depletion from giving
my all was showing itself, and hopefully not in as whiny a way as the Facebook
lady’s did. My subconscious, savvy
vacation planner that it is, was nudging me to flee to places where I didn’t know
anyone so I could take a break.
Life may be a little more stressful than usual, but it’s not
like there is anything unmanageable happening. Much of it is wonderful
stuff--like I get to have my grandson living with us again for a while. Plus, I
like doing things for my family and my friends. But stress is stress; it takes
energy to do even the fun and wonderful things. And, not that men can’t be givers, but it’s usually women
who end up providing the support, legwork, comfort and hors d’oeuvres in any
given situation. So, I guess I don’t have to go to Miami to take care of myself,
but I do have to remember to take a little vacation every once in a while to
recharge myself. Not just
remember, but actually do it. Close the door to my room and read for a half an
hour. Stay a little longer at the office and creep strangers’ Facebook pages.
Take a drive all by myself. (And
don’t offer to pick up milk and eggs! Wine is okay though.)
Sneaky subconscious.
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| Aunt Minnie, Nana (Helen) and Aunt Mabel formerly of Florida, currently in Heaven (most likely). |
