Life is a Holiday, eh?
Vacation. What does it mean to you? If you break it down, and no this is not a snooty Latin exercise (which we all know would be ‘acation-vay’), you have ‘vacate’ and ‘tion.’ Maybe ‘tion’ is pronounced ‘shun.’ Vacate and shun. Yea, maybe that is it. We vacate our normal lives and shun everything connected with it.
A week on the beech in Mexico was pretty close to that.
But maybe it means something more. Vacation is different to each one of us. Bloody hell, folks on this side of the pond wouldn’t even be sure what the word implies. Perhaps on my annual leave I’ll go on holiday to the Maldives (‘mall-deeves’). What?
This much I know: the meaning to our vacations, or whatever we call them, changes with the times. Probably because what we vacate and shun depends on our needs and wants in the there and then. Our desires are plotted on a continuum that maps out the breaks we take from our small little corners in the world.
So what then did I vacate and whom did I shun last week in Mexico?
Nothing and nobody (hey!). The pig-Latin was probably a better place to start in understanding what it was all about. Whatever our week was called, it had nothing to do with leaving home or shunning anyone. It wasn’t a break or retreat, it was where I needed to be. A week alone on the beach with the love of my life with nothing but the waves between our words. I’m not sure what you call that, or that I really care. In the end, it was simply where I needed to be and we can call it what we want.
Categories: Bloody Hell, Confession, Creative Writing, Life, Love, Perspective, Rambling
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