How To Relax

*I took a vacation

For a few days, this was my view. Mountains, mist, chickens. Roosters squawking throughout the day, a clarion call to fucking I suppose. I was told the isle had no predators, enabling these chickens to walk wherever—in and out of restaurants, waiting for food to fall onto the ground, eager to hoover it up. I walked through the house, shoes free. Puppy free. Read books—Found Time by Caroline Goldstein, Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke and Belle Burden’s Strangers. Enjoyed them all. Took minimal, tender-footed walks—careful not to step on squishy beings—around this property—not mine, obviously. Saw crawling things—one looked like a centipede but with a dragon head. Another looked like a waterbed but was black with incredible white markings, long antennas. There was one albino Gekko too, in the house, finding sanctuary in the belly of the oven.

It was all sublime.

I have written here about what my life is like in its various manifestations, how my day-today is an endless whirlwind of work, puppies that need walking, bouts of fatigue and ongoing relationships that I cherish. The threat of not earning an income is ever-present as a freelancer. The need to pay bills is non-negotiable. I am not unique. So many of us are the earners of our lives.

Taking “time off”—away from the demands—is in its own way, a stress. Will I still have this freelance work awaiting me? There have been times when I have returned from a respite that I’ve been told I am on a “pause,” meaning, no, the job is no longer available to me.

And then there is the money I spend. On food, accommodation, gas. Incidentals. All these things that add up to my real life stress. Like the Adam Sandler sketch, Romano Tours. “If you’re sad now, you still might feel sad there.” I can go somewhere, but will I really be away? Away from what, actually?

Well, the actually is: away from the life as I know it.

Did my sadness follow me to the land of chickens? Well, it was there but it was not overwhelming, not the way it is when I lay awake at night, wondering what my next job will be. On my vacation, I woke up at 3am or 4am, thank you circadian rhythm, but not angry. Calm. Doing Wordle—got the fucker in two several consecutive days—, Strands and the one that defies me, Connections. Hardly opened my laptop, except to google something, enjoy my own book, like that. Looked at social media, enjoying my friends lives.

Celebrated the Knicks. In bars with strangers. On social media, the sharing of joy, a collective glee. An exhilarating feeling, uniting those of us fans for the two weeks, or for the 54 years. Whatever.

I took my leave from the world, and gosh darn, did it feel good.