Getting Away From It All

I went off by myself once for four days to think and write and figure out what to do with my life. I had traveled for business and been alone in hotels and restaurants before, so that part wasn’t strange. But I had never in my life just gotten in my car, driven to a destination, and checked into a hotel, with the intention of spending the time in complete solitude. People may do that all the time, but, to me, it was the bravest thing I had ever undertaken.

It was Memorial Day weekend of 1984. I went to a resort in the Ozarks and stayed in something that was supposed to look like a little cabin. It was actually a hotel room located in a building some distance from the main lodge. I didn’t choose the best weekend because families tend to descend on resorts over holiday weekends. It was also cold and rainy, and I had packed clothes for hot and sunny, so I almost froze to death. But, that aside, it was the adventure of my life.

What did I do for four days? I flowed, doing whatever felt right at any given moment. At first, that was very difficult because I’m not a go-with-the-flow person. Not to mention that I was so stressed out, I was ready to come apart, which is why I had embarked on this “journey” in the first place. I was pretty desperate, as I recall.

I read, I wrote in my journal (pages and pages and pages), I meditated, I watched TV, I went to one of the restaurants when I was hungry, I ran or walked on the road in front of my cabin, I slept, and I did something I had never done before: I consciously thought. It was pretty amazing.

1984 was 24 years ago. What is astonishing is that it was not only the first time in my life I did something like that; it was also the last. I have never done it again, not even for a weekend. I have thought about it many times, remembering the magic of it, even though the room was probably on a par with Holiday Inn, the weather was horrible, outdoor activities were pretty restricted (I was into exercise in a big way then), and there were irritable parents and kids all over the pace.

I came home completely restored, though I could never explain what had happened that brought about the change. Those four days were a hyphen in my painful and pressured life — a time out that probably saved me, at least for a while. Why I have never done it again is beyond me, but, on some deep level, I don’t seem to believe I deserve such a gift. The fact that I have needed it, and it could have had the same curative effect many times over the years, is pretty apparent.

I have lived in my beautiful, cocoon-like condo for 24 years, and every time I think I should get away, I look around me and wonder why I couldn’t just do the same thing at home. So, I stay and, of course, I don’t do it. Instead, I work or clean or shop or flit from one activity to another; and at the end of the weekend I am in exactly the same condition I was in at the beginning.

What's wrong with this picture? Why would any sane woman wait 24 years to take another time out? Apparently, I just can't do it at home; so, when my daughter told me she was going on a cruise to celebrate her anniversary and was worried about her dog (read, child), I volunteered to come to Florida to dog sit. It was exactly what I needed. I had the house, the pool, the dog, a pile of books, and a laptop computer. By the end of 10 days I was as relaxed as a spaghetti noodle and I had found my solution: hop on a plane; bask in the sun; walk the dog; and u-n-w-i-n-d.