All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

30 more minutes to go and I will be heading out for a real, comparatively at least, vacation after 19 months of imprisonment here in my cell. I have kept everything very low key, thus this vacation request was sent out to management for approval and revealed to few here for fear of repeating last summer’s mistake when the 5-day vacation plan was downsized to three days. As I showed up to work two days earlier, I was greeted with people asking: what are you doing back so soon! I sensed then my absence was actually more missed than my presence. This time I have vowed to redeem myself from the previous defeat, not for my coworkers’ benefit but for self improvement.

I have wondered why I find playing harder than working and the only answer I can come up with is that I was not born with it. The breeding helps, I assume, but not mine, since my parents were NOT playing people either - at least not then. There had been very little memory of us going on vacation or taking family trips in growing up. Then I married someone with exactly the same depleted genes and upbringing in that department, thus the same vicious cycle continues on. We have never found playing enticing. In fact, we thrive in laboring, from as small as fall leaves raking to major events such as moving as in relocation. To me, playing is dreadfully aimless and empty and requires too much coordination and organization while working is energizing and exhilarating. Moreover, there is always hope involved for the later; instead of dreading its end, you actually look forward to it. Reward vs price tag; go figure.

But this time we have bravely embarked on our journey; we bought 3 tickets to fly all the way from the east-most end to the almost west-most San Diego with no way to cut it short. The flight was long and somewhat uncomfortable since we were seated at the very end row. The weather was dreary – it rained almost every day for our entire stay. The agenda, except for a Christmas party, was empty. Somehow it didn’t matter. We were in a spirit of reformation as recovering vacation failures, determining to have a great time. And a great time indeed we had: at the party, friend’s house and various restaurants. The trip to Julian was most memorable despite that it was cold and raining. We became one of those tourists we had once so envious of, enthusiastic and dutiful, visiting from store to store and admiring graciously the local treasures we found. On our drive back, there in our rental car was not only a famous local pie but also 3 souls with most accomplished spirit. With still half day left, we decided to stop for lunch at the winery where Christmas party had been held. The owner, Jerry, had confirmed that they were open, so we drove on with high anticipation, passing a grand view of boulders and mountains along the way. It was almost like we were in a dream or another world. Whether it had something to do with the heavenly sight or that we were already intoxicated with our elated self esteem, I couldn’t be sure. The quick lunch bite turned out to be a three-hour event with wine and football game first with Jerry, his wife Rosa and son Frank, followed by an elaborated sit-down banquet with our host family and a full menu of pizza, lasagna, salad, jambalaya, and tiramisu. There had never been another moment like that at that vineyard, almost Italian with Tuscany patio overlooking fields of grape vines and shades of clouds extended forever in the sky. Beyond the grape vines field, Rosa says, that’s where her daughter lives and her little 3-year-old granddaughter would sometimes run across for her. Standing there, we were lost in space and time. If we thought we had been high before there, then there should be another word for high after that magical lunch.

Should we declare victory in that we have indeed overcome our disability to play? Can this trip actually turned out to be a touched-by-angel transformation such that we are changed forever? Sadly, the answer is: not likely. Those fleeting moments come and go as with our self-liberation. On the plane back, I was already back to that old self, mourning for a good time pass. There returned inside of me was my life-time friend of gloom, ghost of grief. The playful person I had discovered has already been long gone, as is this fun vacation. Somehow, that moment of change still matters. It warms my heart and makes it hopeful despite of the after the light void. I am almost not afraid of playing any more. As the old saying goes: practices make perfect, our next attempt may well be just as successful. Yes, the old dull Jack is back, still the slight victory is that at least this time I stretched to the end; five whole days I stayed away and I did not have to sneak back in. And maybe, just maybe, this time my presence instead of my absence would be missed.