I'm flying home from California. Beat. And happy. I just spent the last few days hiking trails near the Pacific, sharing beaches with elephant seals, riding horses through the winding mountain trails, writing poetry with actual pencils and paper, and--most importantly--losing myself to music for a bit.
(Meaning I banged hard on the piano til the wee hours).
The cabin I rented had no television, and I didn't use screens at all while I was away. I didn't really miss them. Not having them available made all the other activities more appealing. And I got to thinking: I like California Emily. She’s a woman who knows how to wring the most outta life. She's art-driven. She's free-wheelin. She’s active. She's determined to create.
Which of course begs the question: why can't she come home with me?
Reader, these yearly solo vacations give me insight. Before I left for this trip, I didn't think I had time for it. Excuses piled up. The kids need me. The restaurant needs me. My husband might kill the dog.
But I think it’s important to check out of routines in order to grow. I’m sure it’s possible to accomplish this task without physically leaving once a year. But for me, it works.
So California Emily is now in Illinois and trying to put down roots. She’s gonna make more art with the kids. She’s gonna set aside time to write. Damnit she’s even gonna find horses to ride (and hold the elephant seals in her mind). If you’re able to check out so you can check back in a little more clear-headed, I highly recommend a solo trip.
I’ll see you next Monday.