I meet a young man who mentions he took vacation last month.
“Where did you go?”
It’s a natural question.
”I visited my family in the Kootenays for a week and spent another week at home.”
He mentions how rested he felt when he returned to work. Like he had really been on vacation.
I think about the staycations I took over the years—how I leaned in to them and appreciated the peace of being at home and doing whatever I wanted, which was usually not very much. I returned to the office feeling refreshed too. Vacations spent at home were among the best times I spent away from the office.
I always felt a little guilty when asked what I was planning to do, or what I did, on my vacation. As if staying home wasn’t enough. And there’s that word again—enough—it’s dogged me for much of my life. I’m finally learning to stand face-to-face with it and call it out for what it is. Liar.
I am enough. I have enough. I do enough. I believe it most of the time.
Now I’m on permanent staycation and it’s a sweet time of life. We vacation away now and then—but not often. It’s always been my desire to stay home. Now I can.
I think about that young man who recently returned from his vacation. I sense he is a kindred. And my daughter, who is beginning a staycation right now too. And those of us who are deeply rooted in a place, in our homes, and with whose who share our ordinary days. It’s a gift, this contentment. I grow more certain of it every day.