A vacation from my vacation...

Vacation is a funny thing.

It’s good for you, you should do it, and during said vacation, everything is (well, usually and hopefully) amazing and relaxing.

The leading up part is a little rough, however.

If you’re anything like me, a little too analytical for life, preparing for vacation is a much bigger deal than it needs to be. There’s duties to cover at work, laundry to finish, lists to make, plans to arrange… and in my case, it even comes with dreams (more like nightmares) and endless minutes of trying to remember if I forgot anything.

These are the moments where I consider myself a little bipolar. On the one hand, I couldn’t be more thrilled that I’m going to take a break, catch some rays and maybe just sleep one full night. But on the other hand, I wonder if it really is all worth it for how much preparation it takes! It’s almost like you need a vacation from vacation planning.

With the laundry going, a decent list started in the kitchen, a few books piled on the couch ready to get packed and a brain ready to fire on all cylinders, I am a few days from my own vacation. I will be going with and spending time with fantastic and wonderful people in a beautiful setting (so I’m told, never been to AZ before), I’ll be away from home and enjoying a new adventure and taking my first plane trip in several years; but I’m sitting here in my bed, wondering what I forgot, and I haven’t even left yet!

Maybe I need a vacation more than even I know… I fully admit that I worry way more than I should, and that the things I obsess about aren’t even obsessed about in an unhappy or upset way, I’m just wired to think as much in advance as possible and with as much acknowledgement of all possible outcomes as any human could. Trouble is, I’m also not capable of taking everything into consideration. I know I don’t control anyone else, including myself, so spending time worrying and counting the number of shirts I’m bringing and staring blankly ahead trying to force my mind to focus won’t help one bit. But, in some ridiculous part of my inner self, I like to think it will at least help a little, so I still do it….

At 30 years old… will I ever learn?

Oh well, at least for now, I’ll gather my things, check off my list and get on a plane. And have a marvelous time.