It’s been a while, I know. I’ve really been struggling with inspiration since I completely burned myself out way back in November. But I think I’m ready to go again. Time will tell, I guess.
I have found every excuse in the book. Aimee was in a play, which I helped with, and that took up pretty much all of January. Jack had a birthday. The Jets have played 50 or 60 games. I found an awesome new time sink for iPhone, which eats up hours per week (Spelltower, in case anyone has some spare time they want to kill). And we had a holiday.
We got back from Puerto Vallarta last night. It was a great week, full of new adventures. We went snorkeling in the Pacific, kayaking, paddle boarding, surfing, whale watching, and to a cooking class. We bought tourist crap on the beaches, soaked up plenty of Vitamin D or A or whatever it is you get from sun, and drank our weight in Corona and Pacifico. No one got murdered or mugged or Montezuma’s Revenge. It was lovely.
It was the first time we’ve really had an adventurous family holiday (if by adventurous I mean “holiday in a country where the official language is not English, where drug lords outnumber honest cops and where sanitation is questionable”, or, to be really truthful, “holiday in a guarded resort where your glass is never allowed to empty and people clean up after you”), but it went fairly smoothly, thanks to my sister and brother-in-law, who helped us navigate the unknown for the first time. Them, and the fact that we were in a nice, safe, glorified section of the country that caters to the gringos.
I booked this trip because I find February the worst month of the year. January is so busy that it’s harder to notice the dark and the cold. I was hoping that by the time we had nothing left to look forward to, the days would be longer and the temperatures warmer. Of course, we haven’t had much winter this year, so the complaint wasn’t as much about the weather as usual. I was really, really hoping it would get me past the restlessness that happens at this time every year, probably darkness-related, that makes me want to find a new job or a new house. It’s why I can’t grow my hair out – a new haircut is usually the cheapest and safest thing I can do to get myself out of the funk. It’s why 50% of my wardrobe is replaced every year.
Before we went, I worried that we’d love the hot holiday. I worried because we can’t possibly take the kids out of school for a week every year. I worried because it wasn’t exactly cheap. I worried that it might not fix the restlessness.
My fears have been realized. In the 24 hours since we’ve been home, I’ve looked for new houses AND new jobs. I still hear the ocean. There might even still be some sand under my fingernails. I truly hope this settles down soon because my vacation time is used up until April, and I’m really not good at delayed gratification.
This was the first holiday I think I’ve ever had where I could imagine actually moving there permanently. Not exactly where we were, mind, but the little surfing town full of expat hippies was pretty cool.
It was a slightly bitter return to reality today. I’m glad we have the long weekend to get ourselves back into real life… if I’d had to go to work this morning, I might have brought in a letter of resignation. I guess I’d better learn to manage my restlessness in constructive ways. It’s just somehow easier when I’m on a beach, in the sun.
But now I have a fresh batch of inspiration, so maybe I’ll start with more stories. I wonder if Violet ever went to Mexico?