Harder Than I Thought

Vacations are a wonderful thing . . . until they're over. You spend months planning them, waiting for them, anticipating them - and then they're over before you know it. In other parts of the world, it's not uncommon for even entry-level workers to get four to six weeks of downtime but in our neck of the woods, most of us have to settle for a measly two weeks a year to recharge our batteries. Just when we start to relax, it's time to head back to reality and, as everyone knows, that is highly overrated.

My family never took a holiday longer than a week at a time when our kids were little; it was always impossible to pry their dad away from his demanding job for any longer. We always tried to squeeze a lot of fun into that week but it was never long enough to truly unwind. I always swore that someday we would get away for two or three weeks at a time and really get the chance to decompress and get reacquainted with one another. Well, that day has finally come. And you know what?

It isn't any better.

At the risk of sounding incredibly greedy and infuriatingly ungrateful, I'm having a really rough time coming back from the amazing trip to Europe my husband and I were lucky enough to take. We spent more than three weeks exploring Italy, France, and Switzerland by bus, train, cable car, and ship. We celebrated a birthday (his) and an anniversary (ours) by climbing mountain peaks and strolling through scenic valleys. We ate meals I didn't have to clean up after and slept in beds I didn't have to make. We saw something new and exciting every day and never once did I have to run to the grocery store, pay a bill, or fix a leaky faucet. Except for missing my little grandson like crazy (thank God for Skype), it was heaven.

And then it was over.

Back to work and sweeping the crumbs off the kitchen floor. Back to laundry and figuring out our Obamacare options. Back to beds I have to make and meals I do have to clean up after. And worst of all, back to a rapidly approaching winter. Yuck.

I know I'm the luckiest person on the planet to have been fortunate enough to have taken a trip like this in the first place. I know that I should follow that Dr. Seuss adage to not be sad that it's over and just be glad that it happened. I know that I have to get my butt off a pity pot I have no right to be on and snap out of it but I can't seem to stop asking myself this question:

How long do I have to wait before I can do it again?

Reality is Highly Overrated

I've been hunkering down for the last couple of months with Italian guidebooks and cruise brochures - my favorite reading materials. I've mapped out possible train routes, visited Trip Advisor for the latest review of hotels in the Cinque Terre and calculated how to use our remaining frequent flier miles in the most efficient manner. I'm one of the those people who LOVE to plan vacations. I love the minutiae of picking out the right hotel; the best cruise ship; the perfect itinerary. And the best part - knowing that that travel date is out there in the future just waiting for me. I can put up with a lot of disappointment and stress when I know that date is on the calendar. It doesn't matter how many months down the road it might be - it's out there. As far as I'm concerned, you can have expensive jewelry, uncomfortable shoes and over-priced clothes - give me a memorable trip to a far away land any day.

But now I have to face the facts. As much as I want to throw reason out the porthole, I can't ignore the reality that now is not a good time for us to go. As much as I want to celebrate our upcoming birthdays and anniversary, the festivities will have to wait. It's funny. Many times I have been the voice of reason when my children were ready to jump into something without thinking it through; many times I have cautioned them to think with their heads instead of their hearts; many times I have warned them that they would be sorry if they didn't save their money for a rainy day.

Well, it's raining. And I have to listen to my own advice. And it sucks.