I’m watching my sister swim laps in the pool. I mean, really watching her. As with everything else, she is swimming with utter confidence. She starts out with a simple freestyle stroke, moving her arms in front of her head one by one, pulling at the water so that her body moves in one fluid movement, breathing every third or fourth stroke as if it is choreographed. And then she turns around and does a butterfly stroke, her upper body emerging effortlessly out of the water, her arms arching over her head as if she doesn’t care who sees her.

And suddenly we are kids again. She knew others were watching her, yet she acknowledged them by not minding them at all. I would stand awkwardly by, loving her and hating her for keeping it all together and fitting in so well while I stuck out like a sore thumb. She would just go about her business, doing whatever she was doing, only keeping it perfect. Like now, swimming in a lap lane amongst other lap swimmers, carefully executing each stroke, making it look perfect even when it wasn’t. And I am here, sitting on the side if the pool, writing about my sister on my vacation because I don’t know how to execute a perfect stroke. I’d more closely resemble a drowning seagull than a graceful dolphin.

And yet, despite my feelings of insecurity that have traveled with me, everything about San Diego is calling to me. I know it isn’t really the place, it’s the frame of mind. It’s the ability to feel relaxed into vacation, a mindset I desperately want to take back home with me. As I write, I am relaxing on a lounge chair in my bathing suit and a floppy hat to protect me from the sun. You know you’re on vacation when you wear clothes you normally wouldn’t wear. The flowing dresses are brought out from the back of the closet, the sarongs, the floppy hats…. Nobody says anything or looks at you funny because you are on vacation, nobody knows you, and the floppy hat goes so well with the look of happy freedom on your face. In short, you would look silly NOT wearing a floppy hat.

But when you’re back in the real world, the dresses and floppy hats are put away, and it’s back to wearing plain old jeans on the weekends and proper skirts on the weekdays. The look of happy freedom is put away as you bring back out the worry line and serious frown. And you (really I am talking about me) search for the next pocket of time when you can take a vacation.

But why does the vacation feel have to exist only away from home? Why is it that I have to get on a plane and travel hundreds of miles away to feel the results of peace experienced just by drawing pictures in the sand or watching a sun set over a fiery ocean, or when I am sitting on a lounge chair by a pool in a floppy hat watching my sister swim laps? And why am I allowing feelings of inadequacy travel with me, stopping me from getting in that pool and swimming laps with my own clumsy grace?

When I get home, I vow to experience more quiet. I vow to rid my home of all unnecessary clutter. I vow to get more plants, play more music, and take my kids for evening walks. I vow to celebrate dinners more and to eat healthier. I vow to try new things. I vow to wear jeans less and flowing dresses more. I vow to learn how to run. I vow to allow myself to be in vacation mode from time to time, even in my own backyard. And I vow to wear floppy hats without a care as to who sees me. But while I’m still here, I vow to get off my ass, put away the pen, and go swim some laps like everyone’s watching and I don’t care.

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