Just returned from vacation spent with family and friends. First 5 days in New Hampshire. Second five days on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. The days were long and lovely. Lots of sunshine, warmth on skin, green canopies, and shimmering water.I found myself strangely silent all during vacation. It was as though having time to slow down and stop short-circuited me. Being disconnected from the "doing" of my job somehow affected my "being." I often felt trance-like on vacation... under the influence of some kind of "mute" spell. My brain felt heavy. When I tried to express feelings or reflect on my life, nothing really happened. I replied to the questions of family and friends with a lot of one-word answers.
I'm typically an introvert, so this wasn't so strange. But inside, it felt different. This wasn't just me seeking privacy, seeking to hide.
This was me being uncertain about the "me" that was experiencing the world. Something about vacation was so jarring and wonderfully disorienting that it scrambled the signals of my identity. Who am I? A minister? Not here, you're not. There is no room for wisdom or profundity on vacation and there is no gain by claiming those virtues. You're just a schlub who eats, poops, lounges, and occasionally showers. Still a dad. Still a father. Those identities hold.
What to do without the professional attributes and connections, though? Who is David if he's not what his job says he is?
I'm back in New York and back at work. But the thick fog of vacation--and the circling questions that rose--haven't gone away.
What an interesting comment on America and our jobs. In this country we ARE what we do. It is difficult to be seperated from that; especially when it is something abstract like an artist or a minister. When that is taken away either by force or in your case by choice (a vacation) who is left? I often feel the same when not onstage.
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