Vacation Time


It’s time for a vacation. We’re renting a car and driving down mountainous forested passes and through the flatland desert and into skyscrapered Babylon and scantily brained beaches. Granted that all I’m doing is going back to the sunny nether regions of California to visit the fam, wherein I was calved and raised, not going to the Bahamas or some Himalayan retreat, but even this little week-and-a-half long respite will be enough to give me some fresh air to breathe, some sun to imbibe, a new perspective to be formed. Sometimes ya just gotta get the fuck outta Dodge, youknowwhatimsayin?

It’s kinda fun to return to a place–where once you struggled and took the bus to work and drank excessive amounts of alcohol–and to re-view that place in the less attached perspective of a person just passing through. LA-LA land put me through hell and back, and while I’ve never felt much of an affinity to the place, I do have a fondness for it in the way that one has a fondness for memories of a brother who beat the shit out of you when you were younger and nearly killed you a couple of times, but you survived. So, I survived, and I revisit it and fondly remember nights of binge drinking and using empty cups as ashtrays in trendy bars where women were fashionably unapproachable, vacuously self-aware; I fondly remember getting anxiety attacks on the hours long bus ride going down Wilshire on the way home from work, crammed between strangers like mayonnaise on a po’ boy; I fondly hark back upon the loneliness and the hunger, the electricity of the city and the gaps between synapses, the this and the that and the wherefore and the then.

And then it’s down to the border beach town of San Diego, where the malaise of sun and misdirected money hovers over the wide traffic strewn interstates in the salty desert air. This is the place where I was reared, where I ran 800’s, where I hauled my giant djembe down cliffside goat trails to attend full moon drum circles, where I first loved, where I first peed (into the nurse’s face), which I still call Home as a reflex, given that the majority of the years of my life thus far still have been spent therein.

Given that now my family is actively extending itself–i.e. my sisters have each now beared children, and my niece and nephew are the cutest little kids I’ve ever made the acquaintance of–so of course being their uncle I want to see them as they grow (way too fast) as much as I can, which generally translates solely into a couple times a year. This extension of life and family compels me to spend my precious vacation time visiting them rather then trekking through exotic foreign lands–but perhaps such is as it should be.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

1 thought on “Vacation Time”

  1. That’s a vivid vignette of emotional imagery – really nicely written.

    I can relate to your nosalgia; after traveling and moving, I feel similarly when I return to my own “home,” despite its ever-changing face.

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