Those of you who know me were probably shaking your heads as to my choice of vacation. I’m not usually a resort holiday kind of guy. Actually, I’m not a vacation kind of guy. I find resting hard. Relaxation is a foreign tongue. I have difficulty settling down.
Lying on a beach. That’s not me.
But I hadn’t been sleeping. Or when I managed to drift off and get a couple hours of snooze time I didn’t feel refreshed when my alarm clock blasted 7:31. It was worse than having no sleep.
The cumulative result was that I became jittery, grouchy, and sad. My doctor said something needed to change. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing and expect to dance at my granddaughter’s wedding.
Call it an “emergency vacation.”
I went to Air Canada Vacations, clicked on “Last Minute Deals” and chose the cheapest package. A week-and-a-half later I was laying under a beach umbrella in Ixtapa, Mexico, book in hand, while Sergio filled my bucket with Corona.
Maybe it was the 34 degree weather (Humidex 44), but, by the second day, I could feel my anxiety drain, washed away by the current, flushed into the Pacific by the commanding undertow.
Around 2:45 Monday afternoon, I planned my day and week in my head, dividing the time between meals, excursions, walks, and what order I was going to read my books, alternating between fiction and non-fiction.
But then I realized, “I don’t have to plan ANYTHING. I can just do whatever I want, when I want.” At that moment I recognized that my most pressing concern was when I was going to eat dinner, and wondering if the woman in the chair next to me had real breasts or silicone enhancements (not that I was looking. But her bikini top was smaller than a shoelace, and her black hair did a better job of keeping her modest than any swim apparel).
“Being here is exactly what I needed,” I said out loud, to no one in particular, pulling my hat over my eyes for an afternoon nap.