First proper entry for 2011, unless you count posting a published article, which is cheating, really. I had planned to post in January, just as I had planned to do lots of creative and deeply reflective journaling and rewrite a few chapters of the novel.
Did I do any of these? Not on your life. I didn’t so much as open my computer. And I’m glad I didn’t. Sometimes you just gotta do nothing, and find out that the world doesn’t grind to a halt. In fact, probably no one even notices, unless you are say, Anna Bligh. And that’s a good reminder of how irrelevant each of us is in the scheme of things.
So, I had a pretty lazy holiday. This last week, back into the routine of early starts and tight schedules, school and work and lists of must-do things, I feel the benefits of that laziness – renewed energy and enthusiasm for the people and the tasks that fill my days.
Wonderful as holidays are, however, in some ways I find them difficult and I suspect I’m not alone in this. For one thing, there’s an expectation that you’ll have fun, so you feel vaguely guilty if you’re not having a whale of a time.
When we had a houseful of toddlers and babies, I found holidays a mixed blessing. On the one hand, we had two parents around full time, which halved my load. On the other, we had none of the routines and activities that helped us through our days. And we were often in places where the facilities were a lot less efficient those at home.
But even once the kids were older, holidays could be fraught. It wasn’t so much that the kids or their dad irritated me. I irritated me. In normal life, there is lots of busy stuff for me to hide behind. Work, commitments, friendships, all of which I am reasonably good at.
Holidays are confronting because you are with the people who know you best 24/7, and often the me that is revealed isn’t very pretty – grumpy, weary, just wanting to be left alone. Mother and partner are the roles I’ve always felt worst at, and on a family holiday they are the only roles available to me.
If I can get through this feeling of panic and inadequacy, and I always do, I am rewarded with increased self-acceptance and closeness to the ones I love the most. But for a few days there, it can be pretty torrid.
This year was a bit poignant too, as it’s the first year we haven’t had all the kids around. We are on the cusp of being empty-nesters – a state I mostly look forward to. We’re not quite there though – a phase I find awkward, a stage that takes some getting used to. We have had decades of holidays spent with large broods of offspring and hangers on – laughter, chaos, massive meals and the positive energy generated by a large and mainly happy family. This year, the first few days our ‘family’ consisted of one bored and sulky teenager and two fed up parents. Our family seemed almost unrecognizable – miserably tapering off with a whimper, after 25 years of glorious bangs.
Things looked up. More of our kids came down. Their friends did too. Everyone cheered up. And in the face of what is happening in parts of Victoria, in vast tracts of Queensland, in Brazil and Afghanistan, I am just grateful to have the whole gang alive, our house intact, a job to go to and a functioning city in which to live.
Another year begins.