As the months upon months of short days and crock pots slowly ebb away at the fuel tank of joy, it occurs to me as I go through the “Cause of Dreariness” checklist that I’m missing a creative outlet. Such outlet required to accompany the professional job and the life routine that wraps around said job and family. In the year of carrying the mantle of 45, I did a blog series“45 Firsts” capturing the first time I did something at what is hopefully, give or take, the halfway mark of life.
As I pondered the blahs while the train click clacked along the tracks in the dark nights of Winter, I realised this little blog series of yester year perhaps served some sort of unknown need for creativity in this quest for the mentally balanced life.
Thought turned to the series to carry me through 47, and the mere thought of creating something new lifted the spirit.
I enjoy travel. Not the sort that takes you to the northern tip of Russia to surf mad waves in sub zero temperatures or dive deep into the ocean to where some wreck lies. I love a weekend away. There’s a simplicity about a weekend away. No need to think about who will look after the cats, chickens, and pot plants. No need to listen to the wife’s pre, during and post trip frets about the schedule for the lawn that requires expert management and rotation of ten bottles of magic elixirs. There’s no need to perfectly manage the wind down of the perishables to leave an empty crisper draw in the fridge, which of course leads to cleaning the drawer and, well, may as well clean the whole fridge, in the quest that becomes “getting ready to head away.” Of course there is the dogs to sort.
I’ve also made a repeated statement. One of those statements that if you don’t act, you can hear future sentences starting with “I always meant to.” And there is a finite period to deliver on the repeated statement, albeit a few years to go. The verbalised quest started a few years ago when I fell in love. While love takes people, like my sister, to cities like Porto, I migrated from the northern tip of the Auckland motorway to the southern tip. And with that, I’ve expressed the desire to explore more of the area south of the city while it’s so handy. Once we complete our legal obligation to educate the stepsons to a certain age, our intention is to migrate elsewhere (although this will require leaving the lawn).
So adding the “weekend trips” with “optimise life at the southern tip of the motorway” the blog series was born – a weekend away a month for the age of 47. As the idea ruminates, it didn’t quite sit right. How do you weigh up the idea of heading away 12 times a year with the very strong need to say at home? Home has the dining room table to meander over a weekend jigsaw. Home has the armchair in the corner with the morning sun where you sip the coffee and read the physical copy of the weekend paper. The lawn is tended to, the floors vacuumed to be ready for the week ahead, and course your own bed.
So, with some sort of mind shift, the thought of the joy of weekends away are now laced with the sense that this is a challenge, like when I decided to do a half marathon. Curiosity is weaved with uncertainty about ability, a sense this is harder than perhaps first thought, that is then overridden with resolute determination. Of course, I can manage a few weekends away in a year, of course a day trip qualifies as a weekend.
And with that, welcome to 10 Weekenders.
10 Weekenders 