My return to real life after vacation is less like walking out of a massage, relaxed and unworried, and more like slowly peeling off a stuck bandaid. We all know it’d be better to just rip the damn thing off, but my brain is still clinging to its protection. It’s like the Sunday Blues, magnified, so much that I woke up yesterday seriously wondering if I’d slid into a depressive episode overnight. Youch.
There are better ways to handle this than I have this time, of course, so for my own future reference, here’s my reminder to do the routine right away. Home is home. Vacation is vacation. And I managed a 5 am morning routine every day of my time in Maui so there’s no reason for me to hit my alarm for an extra three hours of sleep once I’m home. Today’s the last day I can reasonably claim jet lag for that one . . .
The mistakes: watching a little too much TV, staying up late researching literary agents, worrying over work fitfully in bed, sleeping through my running time, weighing myself and cringing just a little (no matter that my body is strong enough to run 12 miles), beating myself up for not feeling the post-vacation high (because wow it was such a good trip, I just wanted to hold that feeling with me a little longer) . . . most of these things aren’t a product of post-vacation, they are a product of me willfully ignoring everything I know to be true. Less sleep, less exercise would make me miserable at any time!
Self-compassion is how we recover.
Sheryl Sandberg
I’m trying to be compassionate towards myself though. It’s impossible to be my own version of perfect all the time. Some days I get to feel sad, even after a lucky and privileged experience.
I have a very good non-vacation life here, and the sooner I plug back into the routines that help make that true the better I will be. It just takes a little extra discipline during the transition that I’ve been fine letting slide. But my tolerance for these kinds of slides isn’t what it used to be. Tomorrow I’ll be up in the morning, writing and running, no matter that it’s supposed to rain. I’m going to start there and let the rest follow. It always does.
With Love,
Natalie