Being on holiday is always a chance to reflect upon one’s life. I don’t know about anyone else but for me it is all about finding myself again. It’s as if I get lost amongst the busy days of work, keeping the house in order, looking after guinea pigs and everything else for months on end, so when I finally have a week off it’s a chance to breathe and figure out who I am again.
This usually begins with a weekend away for us. We went to Inverness which is a glorious part of the world and I have just spent a pointless hour looking at gorgeously cheap, large family homes in Scotland that I will never be able to seriously contemplate. The weekend was a chance to forget about everything, I forgot what I do for a living and everything that had been worrying me dwindled into insignificance. Writing is never far from my mind though and I was faced with a beautiful setting just perfect for werewolf and zombie stories. So this weekend past I toyed with the dream of living in the Scottish Highlights and writing. I wish.
I spent yesterday with a friend at her house where we ate and drank and relived our University days watching classic Men Behaving Badly. Hearing about what’s happening in her life at the moment and how different it is to mine was refreshing and inspiring. Watching Tony and Gary drink themselves into stupors was also strangely refreshing – as if remembering that freedom of University days past. Why can’t I get lost in sugar (lager) and late nights anymore?
Maybe holidays, for me, are not just about rediscovering myself but also about reminding myself that I am an adult (I need to learn to say no at work). I’m no longer a child or teenager; I can now do what I want, when I want, within reason of course. I need this week off, every now and then, to remind myself to grab opportunities, to look at the bigger picture, to question everything that has happened since my last holiday and reclaim my identity.