Once upon a time I looked forward to holidays and vacations, not just for what they offered but also as an escape from the daily grind. Like the end of summer holidays as a kid I would dread the whole back-to-work feeling that would creep up on the last few days.
But now, with my own business that lets me do things that I enjoy doing, work with people I like and meet the most interesting clients, I found myself wondering, “What the heck am I doing out in the wilderness alone, just when things are getting interesting back home?” Is my work really more interesting than a day off or have I become a work-a-holic? Is it really about the work or is it people withdrawl?
I used to wish for nothing more than a hundred acres of Canadian wilderness and no neighbours. The no neighbours was the key point. Nobody to complain about your noise or the fact that you don’t cut the grass. Can’t recall what all the other perceived advantages were but I suppose it is a common enough dream if your daily grind is oppressive.
Instead, I have sought out communities at work and at home where people will notice if you don’t cut your grass and they’ll cut it for you, where people will notice if you’re too noisy and they’ll join the party.
As if all these good things weren’t clear enough in my mind, there I was parking the pontoon boat for the first time after having bid farewell to the others. Just me and my dog and the rain and the wind and a slipery stone dock and next thing you know the new flip flop slips and the other foot pushes the boat away. I try to yank it back as I fall in and it does come back in time to smush me up against the stone dock. There’s enough Irish in me that I got lucky and fell in just at the point where the stone dock curves so I was buffetted between a rock and a hard place rather than squashed. Though I wailed like a peacock the poor dog could do nothing and no one else could hear. Of course, it wasn’t the mid-atlantic so I eventually got out and tied up the boat and went off to sulk and wonder what the heck I was doing out there anyway, sans internet, sans people.
Is this just a case of safety in numbers or have I become a people-person?