Getting Away From Yourself

By Bob Rehak

I took a vacation with my family last week.

We rented a house on a lake in Michigan. Not on Lake Michigan; just a lake in Michigan. A week on a house on Lake Michigan rents for about the same as 3 car payments, a mortgage payment, and a month’s worth of Raisinets (I rounded up).

A house on a small lake in Michigan rents for just enough to make you feel like you’re saving money while you’re spending money (it’s a nice illusion). While we were spending time on the back deck of the rental house on a Tuesday, looking out at a lone fisherman in a bass boat, it occurred to me that everyone else who lived on that lake was probably at work. Then I thought that it must be a nice place to live year round, and that those people have a nice life. But then I remembered that winters must be tough on a lake in Michigan.

I also wondered if anyone on this lake would want to rent my house for a week in the summer. Maybe they, too, would enjoy the view off my back deck, looking at the neighbor’s backyard. Probably not, but the point of a vacation is to get away from what you’re used to.

I knew that I needed a vacation when I realized a few months ago that I sit in nearly the same seat on the Metra train every day. And that other people sit in nearly the same seats as well. Maybe they all went to Catholic schools like I did and were programmed to sit in the same seats until told otherwise – or else. This lemming seating chart that we’ve all memorized makes us comfortable. It also makes us stir crazy. I knew the situation was really bad when I started to notice that every time I got off the train in Chicago, the SAME guy would pass me going the opposite way, on his way to work.

Every.

Day.

I often tell the coworkers who I supervise that every once in a while they should input some data on their computers while standing up. They look at me like I’m crazy, but then they’ll try it when they think no one is looking. It’s the same work, but from a different perspective. Breaking away from the routine, from the mundane, is the only way to stay sane. That’s why there are no 50 year veterans of the Illinois Tollway. Can you imagine handing out coins in that same 4x6 box, every day, for more than a few hours? Sure, it’s exciting to see the different types of cars and trucks and look at all the dashboard snacks as customers roll up to your booth, but even tollway voyeurism must get old after a while.

Last week when you had the 4th of July off, it helped you recharge, didn’t it? Unless you were in prison or working at a Shelton’s fireworks store (buy 1, get 6 free!), last Friday was a nice break from your Groundhog Day life [Hey Midwesterners, don't take that for granted - I'd kill for a deal like that back east...or legal fireworks within two states for that matter! - Editor].

Every time I go on vacation with my family and we rent a house or a condo, it’s always strange at first to think that we’re sleeping in someone else’s bed, using someone else’s fork to eat, or better yet, using someone else’s fork to eat while in someone else’s bed.

Vacations separate us from ourselves, while bringing us closer to those who shared the experience. For that moment in your life you don’t live at your own house anymore. For that moment in time you’re someone living in Michigan or Hawaii or Wisconsin or wherever you decide to vacation. For that moment your life is suspended. Your mail doesn’t get to you; your home phone isn’t within reach, your email goes unanswered (and if you spend your vacation answering cell phones or messages, you’re really not on vacation, don’t kid yourself, Mr. Drone). The next time you go on vacation, leave all that stuff behind. Including yourself.