Things I noticed on vacation

Everything moves at a different pace on vacation

Especially our annual beach vacation.

Florida

Fifteen years ago, Hubs found a deal on eBay to buy a flex week on Marco Island for a ridiculously low price.

Considering buying one today would be at LEAST 7 times that and a week at one of the hotels would exceed even that, it might be one of the best purchases he’s ever made.

Sure, there are annual dues.

Still worth it.

Florida has a rhythm we’ve learned over the years. 15 for him. 8 with me along.

We know the condo- even if it’s on a different floor, we know what we are walking into.

We know the beach.

We know the routine.

The sun wakes us naturally… unless it’s a fishing day requiring we commit the vacation sin of setting an actual alarm.

We mosey to the beach for a few hours, wading into the tepid water periodically to cool off.

We enjoy the breeze from the ocean and watch the wildlife.

Fish swimming around us- occasionally letting us know we are in their path.

Lizards sunning themselves on the boardwalk.

The occasional dolphin or manatee

Sand dollars hiding under our feet.

Pelicans dive-bomb for their lunch, completely unbothered by their non-feathered swimming companions.

And we watch people.

We watch couples of all ages meandering across the white sand.

Holding hands.

Holding babies.

Holding the bag of treasures the tide washed in.

We rent chairs and an umbrella from Paul, who greats every visitor like it hasn’t been a year since we last saw each other.

At least until the storms roll in

Then and shoos us away with the same ferocity normally reserved for the birds.

My feet look and feel like they’ve had a luxurious pedicure without spending time or money at an actual salon.

We nap when we are tired.

The heat doesn’t feel as hot as it does back home… even though the humidity is higher.

The sun has turned me from transparent to a slightly darker transparency with highlights of pink where the sunscreen surrendered too soon.

We watch the sun set.

Sure, melting into the watery horizon hits different than back home but the point is

We stop long enough to appreciate it.

Finding Balance

This year we both had work obligations.

That’s reality.

But here, it’s somehow easier to set limits on how much time we are willing to spend on work.

I check in the mornings before heading to the beach.

Hubs has a few important meetings around mid day.

The rest of the time, computers are put away.

We drink our morning coffee together.

Most nights, we watch the waves while we eat dinner on the balcony.

There’s less screen time.

Less rushing.

Less “what do we need to do next”

More connection.

Back to reality

When it’s time to pack up, we don’t need to discuss who is doing what. It’s old habit by now.

One of us cleans the kitchen and starts the dishwasher.

One of us gathers the sheets and towels to pile up for the cleaning crew.

Someone takes out the trash.

Someone vacuums the 17 pounds of sand that followed us upstairs despite our best efforts.

The jobs change.

The rhythm doesn’t.

And somewhere in the middle of the ordinary tasks, I’m reminded why I fell in love with this man beside me.

We ebb and flow like the tides.

Effortlessly.

Travel together isn’t stressful.

Togetherness paired with the freedom to do our own thing.

There’s no constant negotiation over who should do what and when.

We just… move together.

And now as we embark on another day of planes, trains and automobiles to get back to our bed and dogs and lives, I’ve been thinking about what I really want to bring back with me.

Not the sand.

If my suitcase is over the weight limit, I blame the sand.

I want to bring home the pace and find ways to weave it into our normal.

The morning coffee together.

The computers that eventually close.

The dinners where we’re actually looking at each other instead of another screen.

The naps when we’re tired.

The sunsets we stop long enough to notice.

Because Florida isn’t actually slower.

We are.

Maybe the balance I’m looking for isn’t something Marco Island magically gives us once a year.

Maybe it’s something we give ourselves permission to have while we’re here.

And maybe the real magic is in remembering that we don’t have to wait another year…

or travel 1,300 miles…

to slow down enough to notice the life we’re already living.