Vacation Desperation

During my working years, vacation time was allotted.  I would anticipated when the need would arise, set aside the week, occasionally two, a few months in advance, and then look to anticipation as the scheduled activity and time approached.  Once in a while it got overdue.  I worked to a frazzle, got ill tempered, never really despondent but I knew a change of direction and usually location would restore better circumstances.  As I retired, I never expected to feel desperate for this element of change. 

To be sure, I travelled a bit, even to Europe.  But the closest I came to wanting an escape, though not really needing one, might have been an Osher Institute intercession or a solo trip during a deep freeze to Penn State University.  This year, a few days travel was again anticipated for spring break, but Covid-19 cancelled OLLI and most everything else, leaving me with virtually no structured extrinsic schedule once the pandemic added shabbos to my endless solitary time.

Solitude and loneliness are different.  I'm not lonely and I get out most days, even if only to a supermarket or state park.  As I do every June and December, I outlined a dozen projects spread over a dozen categories that would challenge me and bring meaning.  I even started tackling some of them. Despite the effort and its anticipation, I just fixated on my screens and keyboards too much.  Effort sort of, efficacy no, enthusiasm not even close.  For the first time since retirement two years ago, a sense of urgently needing a change of scenery overtook me.  Unfortunately, most days have some petty obligations.  Usual day trip destinations: a winery or brewery, and old mansion, museums all on hiatus to promote infection control.  Still I felt restless.  Best option seemed a day at the beach, socially distanced for my own protection and perhaps others.

My state of Delaware has a significant shoreline, mostly abutting Delaware Bay but at the south bordering the Atlantic.  Shore towns have developed during my decades as a state resident.  Rehoboth Beach is the best known, a family destination when my children were little, a gathering for rather prosperous Gay community in more recent years.  The families now seem to gather a town or two south.  Retirees from Washington and elsewhere have relocated to massive condos and new construction of pastel box houses in the southern towns.  While all beaches are public, the reality is that parking is in short enough supply that if you have no overnight accommodations that do not require a car to get to the beach, the beaches of the beach towns are not a realistic destination.  The alternative has been three lovely State Parks with shoreline.  I have a Park Pass which allows me free entry and parking at any of them.  My favorite has been the southernmost, Fenwick Island State Park, more remote than the others, a bit more of a drive by a separate route, but never with a lot of crowding or the rowdy's that often appear on the beach town shores.

Some challenging driving but I made it.  Covid-19 adaptations require them to close at 60% capacity.  I got one of the last five authorized entries.  A hike to the bath house with beach chair and a tote bag with mega-amenities from pretzels to water bottle, to radio, to cell phone.  Sunglasses and floppy hat, of course.  A quick change, then another schlep with my worldly goods to a patch of sand about a 4 meter radius from anyone else to stake claim as my homestead for the next few hours.

While driving for 2.5  hours, misled by my GPS, did not rattle me, flopping into the beach chair with suitable social isolation did not readily reverse my building frazzle.  Some radio, first whatever would come on the transistor, later the global radio app on my cell phone set to a classic station.  Water from the highly effective metal thermos did not help.  Pretzels, a little saltier than expected satisfied some munchies that were not overly pervasive.  Maybe some surf.  I made my way to the water's edge, low tide, got about ankle deep, still felt unsettled and not entirely steady.  Back to the chair, more sunscreen, more classical music for a few minutes.

One of my successful approaches to vast swaths of post-retirement time has been a commitment to do a defined task, often exercise but sometimes reading or writing at a specified time not very far into the future.  At 1:10PM I would go back into the water deep enough  to have the waves soak my turquoise trunks. Time arrived. I found my way into the water, advancing stepwise until the largest waves broke waist high.  They had some oomph, but only displaced me once.  Just the right temperature.  Finally refreshed, I returned to the beach chair, put my t-shirt and sunglasses back on, and set the recliner backwards.  Now I felt relaxed, frazzle dissolved by the waves.  While the temperature measured rather hot, a cool breeze made the air drying off a damp lower half rather comfortable.  No more need for music or anything else on the radio.  A little more water, a few more pretzels,  positioned the sand in front of the chair to support my heels and lower calves. Mini-vacation mission accomplished.  I set a departure time for about an hour later, thought about delaying it but returned to the locker room then car as intended.

For the return home, the GPS directed me by the usual anticipated route which takes me through some farm country that appears to be giving way incrementally to government facilities, housing for people who work there or want to retire to a beach town, or the strip malls that provide them fast food.  Yet, there were still corn fields, a few orchards, an occasional stand, and roads that had not yet become highways or even major destinations in their own right.  Just conduits connecting the major roads to the beach.  By the time my car reached the more populated towns with larger shopping centers and major government agency sites supporting the towns' financial viability, my equanimity had been restored.  Two more hours on the road to my house.  Ready to approach the following day's To-Do agenda with better focus.