Vacations are one of the hardest times for me to do what I'm supposed to be doing, what I've been looking forward to doing: relax, let loose, kick back, and just be in the moment.
Everyone gets packing and airport anxiety, to some extent. But usually, hopefully, when we arrive safely to our destination, we let out a big sigh of relief, serve ourselves a beverage and get our smiles on.
I, however, arrive at my destination and immediately focus on what I left behind. Did my boyfriend remember to feed the cat? I wonder what time he'll go to bed? Do you think he misses me? I wonder what my friends are doing? Did they even remember that I left? I wonder what it will be like when I get home. Will people call me to hang out because they miss me so much? Will my boyfriend be super duper excited to see me? There are other, much-too-embarrassing-to-mention thoughts that fly through, in addition to these.
Allow me to mention that my current vacation, which started today, is set to last for two weeks.
I realize that my concerns foster anything but focusing on being in the moment, enjoying where I'm at, being grateful for the ability to travel, or allowing me to sit, smiling happily as I watch my family bustle around their New England home in the woods. Instead, I'm back home, trying to keep tabs on everyone else and everything else going on. Not to mention, I sound like an egocentric, attention-starved freak.
In addition to this major flaw that often prevents me from fully enjoying myself, I've created another inner struggle. In an attempt to avoid thinking about home and about all the things on which I'm missing out (like a little kid who hates taking naps because she's worried she'll miss something awesome), I try to make myself so busy that I don't have time to think. I veil this business with the mantra of, "I'm taking advantage of my time." So, I pack my days and nights with activities, social interactions, tasks and goals. Thereby leaving no room for any sort of relaxing, whatsoever. I also do this when I'm left alone in my current house. When my boyfriend/roommate goes on vacation, I have that whole weekend planned out, minute by minute, so I can distract myself from missing him, worrying about him and being bored in a giant house all by myself.
This predisposition sickens me. I despise myself when I see myself doing this. But, as a glutton to food, or an alcoholic to booze, I watch myself worry and plan, worry and plan, worry and plan until the end of the vacation (or lonely home stay) and I stand back, with my hands on my hips, observing the situation and I smile, halfway, trying to convince myself that all of it was energy well-spent. I obviously know, not even that deep down, that I've kind of blown it.
So here I am, trying to sleep in my four-year-old cousin's bed, trying to plan out what my routine will be like for the next two weeks. After writing this, I've decided to just make sure that one thing happens every day: yoga. And in my practice, I'm going to work my hardest on staying in each pose, mentally and physically, while meditating on the idea of just being.
Yes, I'd like to spend time applying for jobs. I'd like to get through one of my yoga books. I'd like to go running every day. I'd like to write something amazing in this blog every day. I'd like to let loose a few times. I'd like to know what is going on at home.
But I'm just going to make sure that I take time out for yoga, and I think, based on past experiences, everything else will fall into place.