It’s about this time each year that I start obsessing about a vacation. And the dream generally features a warm weather beach locale.
I blame growing up in the blustery winters of Ohio.
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. And as an adult, I’ve taken many a spring trip to some of those dreamy/beachy/warm-weathery places.
But this year is different.
And since I’m throwing blame around, like confetti, let’s go with the pandemic. And Florida.
The pandemic because it clearly halted, hindered and then altered forever how we think about traveling. And Florida because it’s just about the only place we’ve vacationed since the start of this thing.
Traveling became about where we could drive to, have our own place with a private pool (bonus points for dog friendly), and enjoy some sunshine. Florida became the easy choice: easy drive, tons of homes with private pools for rent, and many pet friendly options. We could drive away to a new home away from home and have our own little compound. We could pack our own food, prepare our own meals, take our own bikes and do our own thing. Interaction with other people could be as minimal as we wanted, in order to feel safe, and we could be as leisurely as we wanted.
Sounds awful, huh? I know, it’s not. It’s actually a pretty dreamy set up.
Until that’s all you do. And you realize you’re in a vacation rut.
Which is where we landed last fall. After packing up from our Florida rental (a couple days early!) and heading home to get our dogs (from their first and LAST boarding experience), I declared that unless someone pays us to go to Florida, we wouldn’t be heading that way in 2023.
It’s time to get out of that rut.
And it’s a perfectly nice rut. If you like that sort of thing. But we need to see other places and do other things.
It’s been decided.
Which brings me back to the now. And my vacation apathy. A phrase that I NEVER thought would apply to me. But I think it has everything to do with another side effect of the pandemic (for me); indifference.
A couple months ago I was certain we should take a family trip (sans dogs, because we have a trustworthy dog sitter now!) to Washington D.C.. Two thirds of our family has never been to the capital, and it’s been more than thirty years since the other third visited. And with Sydney being thirteen, it feels like great timing.
I was all in. Researching options and getting a general idea of the when, the where(s) and the how(s). I was beyond excited. Probably because I’ve always loved the research and process behind a vacation. And then about a month ago I stopped being excited, and I’m not sure why.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready to travel again. And if you offered me a ticket to anywhere, I’d pack my bag in ten minutes. But in this historically prime season for me to be plotting and planning, I’m not. And it feels weird.
I think I just need to get back to the practice of adventuring. I miss adventuring.
Sydney has her sights set on London, and Keith has Hawaii on his radar. Neither of those are currently on the agenda for this year, but are very much on the “let’s get there” list.
I’m not sure where we’ll end up this year, but I still think a D.C. trip would be a great option for our family. I’m just hoping the apathy passes and the adventurous spirit returns.
So help a girl out by telling me where you’re going, or dreaming of this year …