What did you do over summer vacation?
It’s a predictable question used by teachers, professors, colleagues, friends, and more at the start of every school year. Responding often seems to morph into a competition, as students (0r adults) try to one up each other, each vacation sounding more fantastic than the last.
And so it’s with this fear in the back of my mind that I now write, at the risk of sounding trite and predictable (and in full awareness of its cliché-ness), that my summer vacation was magical. When I was asked the usual question on my return to school in early August, I said that without a doubt, my summer adventures had the potential to shift the trajectory of my life -- if I allow them to.
No, I didn’t get married or meet the love of my life. I didn’t start a new job or spend deeply important and meaningful time with loved ones. In fact, I spent this summer almost entirely on my own.
As a teacher, I often use the summer months to get a second job, something like teaching summer school or working at a day camp, to rake in that extra dough, but this past summer I decided to pass. Instead, I booked a flight and planned to use five weeks of my six week summer vacation to traipse about Europe (mostly) alone.
A caveat: I’m not a stranger to European travel. I travelled abroad for the first time when I was 16, studied in Greece for a semester when I was a junior in college, and have had the privilege to visit Europe with family at least four other times. My parents jokingly refer to me as their “tour guide” on these trips. I plan the itinerary, learn how the transportation works, do the translating (poorly, but still), find the accommodations, and chose the sites we’ll visit. I say this not to flaunt my travels, but to show simply that I’m no stranger to European adventures. I say this to explain that the power of this trip wasn’t the necessarily the novelty of my experience but of what it taught me about my life and myself.
* * *
It reminded me that I love to write.Like the true journal hound that I am, I bought a new journal, acquired new pens, and committed (again) to write every day. But, for perhaps the first time ever, I actually did it.
Committed to making writing my “me time” each day, I instead (re)discovered that journaling is actually my “God time.” Although my writing often started as a simple retelling of my day, it usually transformed into God at work in my life... a clarification of my emotions, an understanding of my desires, or a revelation of who I was and what I needed.
Once I started to write, I was amazed to discover how much my mind craved this activity. One of my favorite travel activities became finding the perfect café, bar, park bench, or grassy lawn on which to capture my thoughts. My daily “God time” became a habit that centered me and reminded me of who I was.
It reminded me that it’s okay to stop and take time for you.
One day when I was in Geneva, Switzerland, I booked a ticket for an eight-hour ferry and read a book in a lounge chair ALL DAY on the top deck while staring at a gorgeous lake. That day ranks in the top three of all my adventures, if not my favorite day. But it almost didn’t happen.
When I first stumbled upon this idea, I hesitated. I had only scheduled three days in Geneva and I had a decently extensive list of things I wanted to see and experience. Spending almost the entirety of one of those days on a boat felt almost wasteful.But thankfully, I paused. If I had been on a “regular” summer vacation, at the beach or the lake, I would likely spend a large number of days sitting in a chair, reading a book, staring at water, and drinking a beer. And gosh darn it, this WAS my vacation. Sure, it was different, it was a chance to explore new cultures and place, but it was also one of weeks I earned, teaching high school seniors 50+ hours a week. I was going back to work when I got home, I reminded myself, so I needed to enjoy the time I had.
I took a step back from what I thought I should be doing, from what I thought was expected as me of a traveler, from my fear that I would miss out on experiences or have regrets and I took time for me. I choose to do the thing I love the most, in the setting I love the most. And wow, was it perfect.
I learned that being anonymous and doing things alone is a powerful thing (and not always as awkward as you expect).
On one of my first days in Europe, after spending an entire afternoon wandering the streets of Madrid alone, I wrote in my journal there is an anonymity to travel that I can’t get enough of, it makes you feel insignificant in the best way, you recognize what little space you actually occupy. I felt this early on, and it quickly became a refrain for my experience.
This anonymity became extremely powerful for me. One of my greatest anxieties in life is being judged by others, of making a fool of myself. And while teaching high school students has helped me release some of that fear (being extra weird is sometimes the only thing that catches their attention), this fear often stops me from acting, from doing the things I want to do.
But when you travel solo through Europe for weeks at a time though, you are forced to do things on your own. Eat at restaurants alone. Go to the movies alone. Ride a ferris wheel by yourself. Sit at a bar alone and have a glass of wine. Go to a beach filled with families and couples and find a spot alone for your towel.
And although I often entered into each of these activities with butterflies in my stomach or a racing heart, I discovered that no one cared what I did. I don’t know why it felt different in a different country, but it did. It sounds simple, but it was freeing to know that even if people judged me, I would quite literally never see them again in my life. This feeling of anonymity freed me up in ways I couldn’t imagine. I did all the activities I wanted to do when I wanted to do them. I remembered that while I’m a person who has other people that care about them, I am not the center of everyone’s world. People are busy living their lives and realizing this helped me to get busy living mine.
I was reminded of what balance feels like.
Anyone who know me well will tell you that my life is often out of whack. The phrase I’ve used often to describe my teaching life is “unsustainable.” Sure, I can power through and survive for the time being - but for two, five, or ten more years? It hardly seems possible and certainly feels unhealthy.
But this summer I felt the magic of a life in balance.
I exercised enough, slept enough, wrote (and prayed) enough, read enough, and took enough time for myself to feel an almost complete lack of anxiety. I still felt like my life had purpose and structure, I wasn’t floundering in the way I sometimes do at the start of a vacation, but it didn’t feel unsustainable.
And while I recognize that a life-long sabbatical which involves me living off my savings and adventuring rather than bringing in a salary could not feasibly last more than 3 or 4 months, I realized that this time refocused me on what I really want. I want to feel in control. I want to feel like I have time for myself. I want to feel like I have a purpose. I want to feel excited about each day. The question of where and how I find that outside of my European adventure may be a bit more challenging.
* * *
One of my prayers this summer was the repeated question, how do I bring this experience home with me? We ask this of ourselves and our students after retreats and immersions, but what about spiritual experiences that take the form of our everyday lives? How do we capture the peace of a balanced existence and bring that into the busyness that is teaching, parenting, marriage, friendship, work, and well, life? That’s perhaps what I will carry with me most into the future from this experience.
This summer’s true power will only really be tested as my life unfolds. I’ll know how much it transformed me if I can continue to chase balance, pursue writing, be brave, embrace quiet, and take time for myself.
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