A week of doing nothing

Two weeks ago, I had a week-long vacation. Having since returned to office and fielded numerous versions of the ‘How was you trip?’ question, I can’t help but notice how uncommon my choice of vacation must have been, given the reactions I’ve gotten.

I didn’t go anywhere for vacation, and it was surprisingly hard to explain.

I stayed home and indulged myself in my favourite stories and new adventures; I reread some old journal entries and wrote new ones, discovered old blog posts from my university years that I had completely forgotten about, and asked myself if I would be content if I were to die soon.

Cliché as that trick is, it was enlightening to go through the exercise. As I retraced the steps of my younger self, rereading stories that I had loved and the words that I had written, it felt as if I had traveled to some ethereal space in between my younger and current self – painfully familiar with both selves and yet not recognising either.

It was an odd yet enlightening place to be. While I have always known that I love stories, upon reflection and thinking of the years ahead, I realised with sudden clarity that I would regret it deeply if I don’t create stories of my own. I want to not just be a reader or observer of stories, I yearn to create them, to bring people on amazing journeys that leave them breathless and different from who they were before – much like how I felt when I put down a good book or walk out of the cinema after a good movie.

In recent years I have focused on my career, wanting to learn every trick in the book and cramming my reading lists with an endless stream of business articles and books. I oscillate between seasons of diligently going through online courses and seasons of resenting the relentless need to keep up-skilling, fearing that any moment of contentment and pride in my achievements would mean the start of being left behind.

It was not all bad – I’ve been to places that I never thought I would, learned from people who I feel privileged to meet, and certainly the financial rewards are great; I especially enjoy the thrill of being able to buy any books that I fancy, and am humbled by the fact that I can afford to donate to charities at a higher level than I used to.

But the hustle of daily life pushed many things to the background. My last two vacations – ‘proper’ ones to Taiwan and Japan – left me in awe of different cultures and nature’s beauty, but they were also exhausting trips that left me looking forward to another break the day I got back to work.

I’ve found solace in art & paintings, and Picasso put it best when he said,

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.

It feels great to lose myself in colours and paintings, but they provide brief respite at best. It was only with the recent week of staying at home that I found the mental space to really confront where I am and where I want to go.

I want to write stories and leave my mark on the world.

The clarity is startling – I know now that I would not be content if, decades hence, I die a high-powered executive with a happy family but no creative output to show for.

I know I need to start making more time for this, and am considering a NaNoWriMo project in one of my busiest quarters at work. Considering, because if this is a long-term endeavour I do not need to drive myself crazy with a 30-day deadline for 50,000 words of fiction. On the other hand, if now is not a good time perhaps there never will be a good time.

Meanwhile, yes, I did not go anywhere in my week-long vacation. Physically, at least, it was hard to say if I have accomplished anything at all. But mentally, I have traveled back in time and forward into the future, and I feel very different from where I started.

So if you have a vacation coming up and you’re thinking about where to go, consider taking a tour of your own mind, and travel with your past and future selves as companions.

You may be surprised at what you find.