Float On

My life's been a little scattered lately. There's the usual work stuff, the usual personal stuff, the (thankfully) unusual personal stuff, the stuff-that-blurs-the-line-between-work-stuff-and-personal-stuff, not to mention traveling every time I turn around. My suitcase has claimed a permanent spot on my bedroom floor, half-filled, either coming or going. Putting it away is a seemingly wasted effort.

In short, I needed a vacation. A restful vacation.

In Montana, I got that. There were no alarm clocks (save for Dad's internal clock that wakes him up at 5 am daily, even on vacation, and yes, I think it may be genetic), no tickets to a museum that had timed entry, no real need to consult a watch, not that I wear one anyway. And, once I discovered there was little cell coverage in the park, I left my phone at the hotel, thereby rendering me unable to determine the time without consulting the sun or my stomach, neither of which provided anything better than a rough estimate.

I didn't go to Montana to think. In fact, I went with the specific intention of NOT thinking. I think plenty as it is, thank you very much, and often without trying. I went to see a part of the country I've never seen before, to wear my body out hiking and to get a good night's sleep for the love of Pete.

Sunday afternoon I had a little time to myself, so I headed to the outdoor pool, InStyle magazine and iPod in hand. The pool was empty and surprisingly warm, so I ditched my stuff on a nearby deck chair and slid into the water. (Despite the fact that the pool was 8 feet deep, I abided by the NO DIVING sign because I'm good like that. I think that's genetic, too.) After swimming for a while, I flipped over onto my back, determined to relax and just float there, making as little an imprint on the water as possible.

It was surprisingly difficult.

I lay there, eyes closed, trying to resist kicking my legs or moving my arms. I allowed myself just enough movement to stay afloat, and that's all. The goal was not to make my way across the pool, but to stay right where I was.

I thought about how much I was enjoying being outdoors, hiking through the mountains, and how I never have the time for it, and I've got a whole western third of the country to explore. I should hike more.

I thought about the pie we drove through the entire park to get to because someone said it was the best pie around, and proceeded to eat it in the middle of the afternoon, and how I haven't made a pie since...well, since I lived at home, I think. I should bake more pies.

I thought about how this floating thing was actually pretty good for me, that ordinarily I am a Very Serious Person and tend to go ^up and _down with each passing wave. I should learn to float more.

These things, they make me happy. Why don't I do them more often? I should spend more time doing the things that make me happy. But where am I going to find the time?

Then it hit me: on the weekend. That's where you'll find the time, silly, on the weekend. You can hop in the car, drive six hours and spend two days hiking over a weekend. You can devote an entire afternoon to baking a pie (with crust made from scratch) and cleaning the kitchen on a Sunday. You can spend two hours running and doing yoga at the gym on Saturday mornings. It's the weekend, stupid!

Rejuvenated by this stream-of-consciousness issue-identification and problem-solving, and feeling mentally settled for the first time in a while, I reached my right arm out of the water, over my head, took a deep breath, pulled myself through a backwards somersault and resumed swimming.

Driving home from the airport, so eager was I to effectuate this plan, I stopped at the mall first.