Vacations are nice.
Even when they’re the type of vacation where laundry still needs to be done, and people need to be fed, and beds need to be changed for guests. We rent a cottage on the shores of Georgian Bay every year for four weeks. It’s my family’s happy place, even though I feel like I’m running a bed and breakfast at times!
But it’s lovely and peaceful and life slows down for all of us here. We have friends visit, and family. We watch movies together and play board games. Hubby takes time from work. In years past, it’s seemed that the door was swinging non-stop, welcoming and saying goodbye, the days a merge of entertaining. But this year, what might be our final year, things will be different. We will have friends and family share our space with us, but not as many. And only those who don’t need to be entertained. Because this is my vacation too. I want to be able to read when I want to, slip away in the morning for a run, or to work on my book. And if those guests make me dinner, serve me tea in the afternoon, then so much the better.
We’ve been here only nineteen hours and already I feel the magic working. My shoulders have relaxed, I can see the fog of stress of the last few months begin to thin as the sunlight breaks through. I love my life, but it’s busy. Chaotic at times. And I’ve finally realized I’m burnt out. The pressure to write and sell has consumed me, slowly eclipsing the happiness I have for doing what I love.
I want to find my happiness again.
This is a good place to start.