My second vacation of the summer consisted of two things that I’ve never really been fond of: the beach and camping. Only one of these items made it onto my list for the year though, and that would be the beach (On a side note, going camping would only make the list of things I do under threat of bodily harm).
The beach is great in theory. The evoked imagery is one of relaxing. However, I don’t like sand. I do not have a developed appreciation for the grittiness between my toes. I don’t like having sand in every crevice of my body and be left wondering how in the world it managed to find its way there.
So why did I put it on my list then? The answer is provided by just recapping previous vacations where one of the main forms of entertainment was waiting in lines and being crowded with all the other crazy people who believe a vacation means fighting the crowds at whatever theme park we have landed ourselves in that summer. (In the last few years, we have been to Disney World three times, Universal Studios, SeaWorld, Six Flags, and a few water parks for good measure.) After two vacations last summer where we forgot our sanity at the entrance gate, I decided that my next vacation would involve sitting and doing absolutely nothing but relaxing. New York ended up coming next on the whole vacation train, but I was determined to gain an appreciation for a relaxing vacation one way or another. And of course, everyone says that a beach is a relaxing vacation.
I don’t know if I’m cut out for it though. In the whole building appreciation theme of this vacation, I walked out into the ocean, cringing when my feet would brush something in the sand below. I built a sand castle with my children and then walked back out into the ocean to rinse all the sand that managed to find its way into every crevice of my body. I will now have to vacuum every inch of my car to get all the sand out that the ocean water did not wash out of those same crevices. I could probably build my own beach with all the sand that found its way inside, but then I’d have to deal with all that sand again. Not an entertaining idea.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my definition of relaxing is probably as unique as I am. Unfortunately, I haven’t found what is relaxing for me yet.
As far as the camping experience, I’ll say that I have never been fond of it in my life. I blame my parents for dragging me through Mississippi campgrounds on my first ever camping experience. (In a Tent!) As a fifteen year old, the idea of public bath houses and sleeping outside in a tent with all nature has to offer is just a bit traumatic. (Did I mention we spent a week in a tent with it raining through the seams of that same tent?!)
My parents loved camping, and proceeded to buy a camper when we returned from that life affirming trip (That would be life-affirming for me. I affirmed that I did not like camping). The purchase of said camper meant I had to be dragged through more campgrounds, but this time in a camper. I will admit that my parents have upgraded their campers every few years, so that going camping with them now involves full size showers, washer and dryer, and flat screen TVs larger than the one I own in my apartment. Even still, I haven’t gone camping in eight years with them. I don’t know how I’ve managed to get away with that in my family, but I suppose I’m still that rebellious teenager who refused to go camping. My children however would have been the bodily harm factor if they had not been able to attend the annual fourth of July camping trip. Andrew had last gone days before his first birthday, and Cara had never been exposed. (I mean, I didn’t want to traumatize them. They of course were jumping up and down excited.)
This camping experience wasn’t a horrible one, but again, I realized that it isn’t my idea of relaxing either.
Everything in my life is at this in-a-hurry, high speed pace, and neither camping nor the beach is conducive to my pace. I suppose I haven’t learned to relax yet. I will have to keep trying to find that place or hobby that finally allows for relaxation.
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