Vacating the Premises

As I write this post, it's actually Saturday morning, though none of you will see it before Wednesday. 

As you're reading this (or at least as it's appearing on The Creative), my family and I are returning from a couple of days at a cabin in beautiful Brown County, Indiana.  This is as close to a vacation as we're going to get this year, and it's not much more than an hour south of home. 

And yet we're making the trip: me, my wife, my nearly seven-month-old son, and more equipment than some junior high football teams use are all cramming into our Honda Civic for the drive there and back.  Why?  Why don't we just stay at home where we already have all of our clothes and toiletries and diapers and toys and books and blankets?  Why don't we just stay at home where we don't have to figure out how to transport a play yard mattress fifty miles in the trunk of a mid-sized sedan?

Because getting out, getting away, getting a change of scenery is good for the mind, the body, and the soul. 

I used to be very much of the opinion that a vacation was just taking time away from working, and that staying at home, safe and sound, was a perfectly viable option.  Then my wife and I started traveling, going to handbell conventions and on trips to various and sundry locales. 

And the most amazing thing happened: when we came back, life had taken on new meaning.  We were excited about life again.  We were infused with energy and drive.  All the problems we had when we left home seemed perfectly manageable upon our return.

I noticed amazing things with my creative life: my composing took on new life.  Whereas I might have felt stagnant in my writing, or devoid of ideas, suddenly I couldn't get the notes down fast enough, nor could I fully capture one idea before another would come charging in.  Some of my best pieces have been written within a matter of weeks of returning from a trip elsewhere.

It's so important that we get away, get that change of scenery and perspective, because our lives crave novelty.  Yes, you can get novelty at home -- try a new restaurant, watch a new movie -- but when ninety percent of everything around you is the same as it's been for the past half year, that novelty is like a drop in the ocean.

But go somewhere different -- even somewhere as close as an hour away -- and suddenly things take on new perspective.  There's no comfortable, familiar, zombie-like driving, because you don't know every road, every stop sign, every pothole.  There's no flipping on to your favorite TV channel because all the channel numbers are different.  Different beds, different sheets, different soap and shampoo, different scenery.  Heck, go far enough away, and even the sun might not travel the same path across the sky. 

Getting away becomes a sensory overload of novelty.  Your mind and soul soak this up, and suddenly life isn't so mundane.  This enthusiasm sticks with you even when you return: yes, it's the same house and the same job and the same duties and responsibilities and problems you had before, but it's a different you.  It's a you who sees life through a different set of lenses and filters, a you who knows that life is good and exciting and vivid, a you who has seen new and exciting possibilities for today, tomorrow, and the future.

Even if it's for one night -- even one long afternoon -- get away from everything routine.  Go somewhere you've never gone before, where the streets aren't familiar and the sights aren't ones you could draw with your eyes closed.  Your mind, body, and soul will thank you.