Me and my Bestie roaming the streets of Rome! |
I come
from an immigrant culture of color and so my parents taught me to work hard.
Very hard. Work hard and then work some more. Get a job, a second job, and a
side hustle. Hustle on both sides. Oh hell, just make it a 360 degree hustle. What I didn’t learn, was how to slow down and
relax without feeling lazy.
When my
Dad retired he had accumulated so much sick time from The City, they couldn’t
pay him for all of it. His dedication to The Job – dragging himself into work even
when he was very sick – lost him money. My mother was no different. She had a regular
job and still cleaned the house, did laundry, cooked dinner, and took night
classes at the local college.
With all
that hustle my parents more than earned a vacation. Too bad they never took
one. But their parents never took one either. I think their journey to America
was the only trip my grandparents ever took. If alcoholism runs in families why
not workaholism?
Although
I’ve damn near circumnavigated the globe, I’ve never been on vacation. Work was
always waiting for me when I got somewhere. I’m not complaining because I love
what I do. But I rarely took the time to appreciate where I was, judging my off
hours by how clean the hotel or how free the wifi.
Yes, I
have a strong work ethic and accomplishments I’m proud of but there’s a downside.
I’m intimidated by my own To Do List. I believe it’s become a sentient being with
very sharp teeth. I’m a manic multi-tasker yet it’s difficult for me to see
long-term projects to completion. I regularly fall asleep in front of my
computer. Actually, it’s more like passing out, which yields a lower quality of
sleep than taking my ass to bed at a reasonable hour and purposely putting head
to pillow.
Being a
live-action Energizer Bunny isn’t cute. The constant expenditure of energy
without pause to review and refresh has ultimately made me less productive and
creative. I needed a vacation, badly, but I didn’t know how to take one. I never
understood how people find the time and money. Sit on the beach doing nothing while
sipping an adult beverage, watching the waves? You lost me at beach. Sand is
just pretty dirt.
Family
vacations are an even bigger mystery. Seriously, why would anyone travel with
children under the age of 30? I’ve observed many family vacations and they have
a common theme: “We argue so well at home, let’s take it on the road and see
what strangers think.”
But as
the saying goes, when the student is ready, the teacher appears. One of my best
friends is an international tour manager who specializes in Italy. She had been
trying to get me to go for years. This summer she rented an apartment while
studying Italian at the University of Perugia. She said if I visited I could
stay with her. Now, the expense of a hotel was not an excuse, but I immediately
thought of others:
“But, I
have work,” I said. But this summer has been slow. When I checked my calendar
for the dates I’d potentially be away I saw that I only had one gig in
Delaware.
Delaware?
Italy?
Now, if I
was looking to spend the summer incorporating, the D would be the spot.
Otherwise, not so much.
To rule
it out, since my inner/outer/all around workaholic was still resisting, I
checked my frequent flyer miles and found that I had more than enough for a
round-trip ticket to Rome. The tipping point came when my friend said, “You
know, the President of the United States takes a vacation. If the leader of the
free world can take some time off, why can’t you?”
“Because
he has a staff,” I thought, but I kept that to myself.
I got
the tickets.
At first
the trip was just another project on my To Do List. I was hell bent on figuring
out how to unlock my iPhone, finding wifi, and making sure I had the right
electrical power converter for my laptop. You heard me. Laptop. I was going to
bring it with me to Italy. I say “was” because a friend gave me a serious
talking to. He said, “Leave. It. Home. You. Don’t. Need. It. You’re. On.
Va-ca-tion. I know you don’t know what that means but it’s a Latin phrase for:
Leave your laptop home.”
And I
did. Well, I compromised and took my iPad. Baby steps.
To get
myself into the spirit of things I crafted my first out of office email:
The trip
didn’t stop being a project and start being a reality until I was walking down
the jet bridge to board my overnight flight. I thought, “This is happening? I’m
going on a va-ca-tion? Work is not waiting for me on the other end of this
flight?”
What was
waiting for me was 10 days of hanging out in the old country with one of the most
experienced tour guides in Christendom. We spent time in Rome, Perugia, Assisi,
and Florence. We drank wine with lunch. We drank wine with dinner. I would’ve
had wine with breakfast if I’d ever gotten up early enough to eat it.
Did I
occasionally check my email, post pictures on Facebook, and jot down ideas for jokes
and stories? Of course; this is one of them. But I also relaxed … a little. It
was uncomfortable at first but I kept at it. I relaxed a little, I relaxed a
lot, and then I relaxed some more. And when I was done relaxing, I had another
glass of wine (a quartino, grazie) got totally relaxed, and enjoyed my first – but
not my last – real vacation. I’m putting my next one on a much shorter to do list.
My grandparents would be horrified.
The Urban Erma, the longest running column on StageTimeMagazine.com, was created and written by stand-up comedian Leighann Lord. Listen to the podcast on iTunes and Stitcher Radio. Watch the video edition on YouTube.com. If you enjoy The Urban Erma please leave a comment and share it with your friends. (Share it with people who are not your friends and maybe they will be.) Get my free e-books of The Great Spanx Experiment and Sometimes I Wish Facebook Had a Hate Button.
3 comments:
It's funny how workaholism sneaks up on you. My parents were in that category too. From their perspective (which they made clear to me several times) I was lazy. I embraced my flaw through my teen years and partly into my twenties but then something happened, something horrible. I now run a search firm, publish books and when I have spare time I'm working out or running. I can't just veg anymore. It's insidious how gradual this came upon me. Is there a cure?
I think it's like alcoholism: one day at a time. :-) Checkout http://www.workaholics-anonymous.org/page.php?page=home
I think it's like alcoholism: one day at a time. :-) Checkout http://www.workaholics-anonymous.org/page.php?page=home
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