Alarm clock? What’s that? Oh, wait, you mean that pesky bandit that leaps from your nightstand to steal your dreams from your pillow? Psh, that’s for real life. Not vacation. Not for a week of daydreams where the song of creativity outplays every other sound. Who needs an alarm when the sweet whisper of joy lures you to the promise of another glorious day?
G – L – O – R – I – O – U – S
Yep, that’s how I’d define my weeklong “staycation.” A week at home. Gorgeous sunshine-basking-worthy weather. Backyard honeysuckle-filled breezes. Multiple Starbucks ventures. All-day writing bliss.
Okay, if you had any doubt on whether or not I was boring, I’m sure I just eliminated it. Yes, I spent my week off from my day job writing at home. And worse still, I loved every second of it. Like, love love. The I could do this every day of my lifekind of love. No thrills or adventures. No mountaintop vistas or lakeside views. Just my laptop and me. And green tea. Lots of green tea.
Pathetic? Maybe. But, for me, the week pulsed with energy, purpose, and joy. Along with a few truths only a “staycation” can teach me:
- A tank top, pajama shorts, and sandal heels make for perfectly acceptable attire.
- Hairdryers are overrated.
- Walking to and from the backdoor to cater to the most indecisive cat imaginable suffices for a more-than-sufficient exercise quota. (Have you seen the cartoon where the archangel is standing at the pearly gates and asks the cat, “In or out?” Yeah, that’s my cat.)
- That small window in the morning when the sun hasn’t fully rounded the treetops yet—when the breeze sings through the leaves and settles over you in a private encore of God’s creative wonders—that’s when you remember this whole life thing, even that persistent alarm clock nemesis, matters. And even more striking, you aren’t left to face a moment of it alone.
- Your calling can free and clench your heart at the same time. Thriving in what you feel called to do is like clamping a defibrillator to your heart. It recharges your spirit. Sparks life back to dormant places. Awakens. Energizes. But it also hurts. Because sometimes you’re not released to step into the fullness of it. There might still be a delay. And, frankly, hope deferred makes the heart sick. But it’s in those moments when you have to find the courage to lead your heart rather than follow it.
I went into the week with expectations. Because, well, that’s what I do. I’m an achiever by nature. Work now, play later (if at all). Give me something to accomplish. Something meaningful to fulfill. A mission.
Not that that’s bad. But, oh, how easily I can bow to the idol of productivity. How easily I can embrace the day, hoping—needing—to make an impact. A vacation? That’s the perfect time to reach to a goal. To soar in purpose. Isn’t that what I was made for?
And then comes the quiet whisper.
None of that matters.
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