5 Phases of Vacation

Vacation, phase one.

You finish your shift or meet your deadline. Turn off the computer or put away your tools. Shuck off your uniform or just the metaphorical hair shirt of your routine obligations.

When the phone trills, you ignore it, even if it's the boss. Whatever needs doing can be done when you get back.

Actually, even though you have made it clear to your superiors that you are ON VACATION, you return the call because the first phase of vacation is disbelief.

Yes, you've felt the chains of duty go slack, but you can't yet fathom that you're free. And you are not.

You have to plow through pre-vacation chores before you can escape. Pay your bills. Take out the garbage. Somehow get rid of the milk. Find someone to take care of your plants or pets. Cancel the newspaper.

You never remember to cancel the newspaper.

Vacation, phase two.

You reach your destination. You've switched into comfortable clothes, meaning nothing pinches. You're flush with books, brochures, maps and plans for all the fun you're about to have.

And you will have it, just as soon as you check your email, your voice mail, your Facebook page and Twitter account. Just once. Or twice. Just in case there's something that demands an answer now.

"Stop it," says a voice, which may belong to a fellow traveler or merely to your inner guide. "It's not vacation if you stay tethered to bad habits."

Somewhere in this phase — call it transition — a funny thing occurs. You release your grip. Slightly, anyway. You go hours at a stretch without checking your techno-gadgets.

And you feel a curious sensation. Are these your lungs? Is this what they call breathing? Do you really spend your average days without an exhale?

Vacation, phase three.

What happened to your shoulders? They feel oddly good down there, so far from your ears. You sleep.

In this third phase of vacation, you see all the halos in the universe. People aren't so bad. You're OK too. And it hits you with a clarity reserved for the redeemed: Yes. Yes. You will always live like this. You will move here, to this place where your shoulders are relaxed and you say hello to strangers, where portions of yourself usually buried in your daily fears and habits are again revealed.

Back in phase two of vacation, you could see your workaday life retreat in the rearview mirror. But here in phase three? Even the mirror vanishes. You don't look back. Or forward. That "be here now" thing finally makes sense. You eat well, exercise, read at leisure, connect with people you love and parts of yourself you've put on hold.

The revelation grows louder, clearer. You must get rid of your home and settle here, forever.

This phase is called fantasy.

Vacation, phase four.

What time is your return flight tomorrow? Or what time do you need to hit the road to miss the traffic? You'd better check your email and the weather report.

Someone asks, "So when exactly are you leaving?" and once the question has been asked, you're halfway to gone. Why does vacation always vanish like a dream and seem as short?

This phase is called regret.

Vacation, phase five.

Disbelief. Transition. Fantasy. Regret. Those are behind you now. In front of you are a crammed mailbox, a pile of unread newspapers, your favorite coffee cup, the peace of your own bed.

You suddenly relax in a way you never quite can in the incessant novelty of vacation. This phase is called home.

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Article by Mary Schmich