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Two weeks ago, I was so in central Texas for “vacation.” With the temperature hitting 115 degrees (124 after factoring the heat index), I decided enough was enough.

I’d pictured a blissful week of writing, editing, sipping coffee, and maybe (just maybe) a margarita. When the temperature blazed into triple digits, enough was enough. I piled everyone into the car and headed for the coast.

Something magic happened at the beach. I no longer wanted to write or edit. I wanted to look for roseate spoonbills (sometimes mistaken for flamingos). I wanted to see dolphins. I wanted to watch the sun rise and set. I wanted to download videos on my phone of summer beach songs. I wanted to take long walks. I wanted to teach Kyland to throw a Frisbee.

I wanted to build sandcastles, take pictures of gulls, try shrimp stuffed with Monterey jack cheese then wrapped in bacon and deep fried.

I wanted crab cakes instead of bacon for breakfast. I wanted to feel the surf swirl around my ankles. I wanted to see shrimp boats, tour the pier, explore an oil rig museum, explore and island I’d never been to, even catch a ferry.

I wanted to have long conversations, pick up tourist brochures, and wear big floppy hats.

I left for Texas imagining hours to write and rest.

Instead, I got something a whole lot better: renewal

I came home inspired. I came home with new ideas. I came home ready to begin my workout program again.

I’ve written more recently than in the last few months. I’ve planned out three new books. And I played my first competitive racquetball matches.

By taking time away from my craft, I returned to it more jazzed than ever, richer from experiences, more able to appreciate simple pleasures.

I’m convinced…doing nothing is sometimes more productive than anything else…

1 comment:

Ayla Ruse said...

Oh, that sounds so great.

As writers, we're doing something we love and don't loath getting out of bed to go to work (write). Perhaps this is why we tend to forget we need vacations, too.