In praise of the care-cation

I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything I thought it could be.

I turned my staycation into a care-cation, and it was bliss.

That was me channeling my inner Peter Gibbons the first Monday back after February break (and if you think I’m going to offer up the name of the movie here, please refer to my thoughts on Easter eggs in writing). I was serene, smiley, and most likely very, very annoying to be around. Apologies to my colleagues at the school where I work.

Why was I so upbeat at the end of a vacation?

I’d had relaxing vacations before, certainly. A summer pilgrimage to a peaceful and sigh-inducingly beautiful lake in Vermont comes to mind. I’ve been fortunate to have some fun-filled February breaks in the White Mountains, where I’d (not gracefully) parallel turn down a long beginner run with my kids and husband by day and play cut-throat games of Uno by night. I’ve even had productive it-feels-great-to-finally-get-that-home-project-done breaks in the past, too. Like the time I spent an April vacation painting my living room, bedroom, and son’s room.

What was different about this particular week?

To begin with, some of us were heading into the school break tired. I’d had a series of stressfully busy weeks, and my daughter — a junior in high school — had been going non-stop since before the new year. And our son? Now a first year student away at college, February break was no longer a thing.

“What do you want to do over break?” I’d asked Erin. She looked up at me, a bit wearily.

“Nothing,” she said. “I want to stay home.”

A ball of tension that I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying released itself in my chest. Oh, thank goodness, I thought. That sounds so good. This year, we decided, wouldn’t just be a stay-cation; it would be a care-cation. We would do what we wanted, and if that meant sitting on the couch all day in pajamas reading or re-watching Jane the Virgin, well, no judgement.

In the days leading up to the break, I had the luxury of asking myself what I wanted to do. As many moms (and dads) can attest, this kind of putting-ourselves-first time is preciously rare. As I listened to my inner voice, this is what she answered:

• I want to write. I’d been neglecting (ie: struggling with) my second novel for longer that I cared to admit. If I really wanted to be a novelist, I argued with myself, I needed to jump start that work-in-progress.
• I want to read. Remember that part about sitting on the couch in pajamas all day? That.
• I want to feel good. For me, that meant heading back to the group exercise classes — and the terrific people I’d met there — that I’d missed during my hectic pre-vacation weeks.

Aside from those three things, I committed to nothing beyond the day-to-day tasks that we all must do to keep our lives and homes ticking over, unless my inner voice said you know what? I really want to do this.

By the end of the week, I had three new scenes in my book, a solid outline for at least five more chapters, a rejuvenated author website, two more books on my GoodReads “finished” shelf, six solid workouts completed, and a deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.

That was what a care-cation looked like for me. Yours may involve a certain number of miles biked, or museums explored. It may be limited to a weekend, or even a day. Let’s take what we can get, folks. Adulting is hard.

Kerry Crisley is the author of the women’s fiction novel Summer of Georgie. Visit her website at kerrycrisley.com.