When in life you focus too much on one single goal, and after all you are able to score it is inevitable you will be a victim of a post-goal crisis or depression. This is what happens to many souls in this world when vacations or a trip come to an end; to all the romantic souls like mine, and to many other pragmatic brains, who wear souls without noticing them.
I’m a victim, I would like to run like a fugitive, but guess what? I am back, my vacations came to an end, in a blink of an eye I almost saw the light, but here again I am knocking the doors of reality and they are slightly opening, making an old noise like the doors of count Dracula in his castle, and I am his slave, and am ready to offer my warm blood so he can softly suck it and consume it gently for 11 months more until he opens the cages so we can fly to the arms of our beloved freedom, arms which we will truly never embrace unless we finally break the rules and get our comfort standards below advertising patterns, and learn how to grow lettuce in our courtyard and not demand a Play Station for Christmas.
Well, this is an ultra pessimist version of the end of vacations, but in a way I feel I am always writing this column to redress those who are commencing their first wild trip to South America, or some others who are in the middle of something, but I never thought before that this column might be read by guys who are leaving for home or to work in the next 24 hours.
I am obviously not willing this new reader to pull a trigger in the direction of their brain, despite my first two paragraphs sounding like a great invitation to do this.
A trip or vacation always helps, for instance I left Buenos Aires ten days ago and was “YouTubing” all kind of rare John Lennon interviews, I came back today and while our pasta was boiling I googled some satellite images from Mercury (the planet, not Freddy) so in a way I realise my mind is still under the cosy effects that is nature’s gift to seeking souls…unfortunately during vacations.
If the bullet is still in that gun do not pull it!
I spent ten sensational days in the only lasting bastion of my aristocratic family, a farm in the province of Buenos Aires, 550km from the big city, ten minutes from the ocean, 200 metres to a river. Me, wife, my two baby twins of six months each and my brother and wife and baby daughter and nine-year-old son who took two friends for those days and dogs.
Vacation obliges a link with family once you have children, and if you choose a destiny where you have immense roots, as I did, it ends not only like a trip for vacation but also a trip to the past, to the heart of your short existence.
The three kids of the age of Billy Elliot offered the group a highly massed bit of fresh air, the three little babies of the age six moons invited many tender breaks (and some midnight break incidents, but, this time not so tender) the dogs offer as usual some casual chats when we need no answers and adults are great for cards and gambling.
I am in a way recommending these family trips, we had a fantastic night camp (only the men) me, my brother and the three children under millions of stars by the ocean, I had a rabbit situation in a narrow path who on its desperation to escape from its predators (dogs), with no way out and in inverse direction to hunters and about to be hunted found me, jumped literally to my chest but while he was in the air on my way, he looked into my eye and in an instant implored compassion, I read that look and moved so he could escape and only touch my left shoulder, we had a crazy sandstorm with zero visibility inside a car whilst I ran out of it to save my car outside from becoming a dune, and of course all the other pleasant things that a home far from city home may offer.
Yes, the return may sound and even feel heavy, but not in vain we are human, and in a way we cannot live in paradise for eternity, and not in vain again Adam ate the apple from the tree and denied an everlasting pure existence. We were made for instants, for breaks, for vacations, and weekends and after offices, otherwise from what would all psychologists – especially in Argentina – leave?
Welcome to reality, plan your vacation, and make love as much as you can, the intangible world is a ticket to ride, or to Mercury.