I am the worst at coming back from vacation. Our first day back in Louisville, I didn’t even have to work but I still moped all morning. I was constantly looking at Nick, saying, “I don’t want to not be on vacation anymore.”
I love exploring. I love new places, even if I’ve been there before. I love doing something different from my usual routine at home. I like the change of scenery.
Last week we got to cross another item off of our bucket list: to visit my family near Atlanta. Initially we weren’t sure we’d be able to squeeze this one in, but the dental school decided to switch the schedule around and Nick got an extra week off that overlapped with my vacation.
We hopped in the car early Monday morning, after a weekend of yoga teacher training for me, and hit the road. Compared to driving from Chicago to Atlanta last summer, the trip from Louisville down south felt like a breeze. Besides, this half of the route has slightly better scenery than the flat plains of Illinois and Indiana. We drove through the rolling green hills of Kentucky, through Nashville, along the mountains of Tennessee, over rivers, through Chattanooga, and into Georgia.
Our week consisted of hanging out by the pool, goofing around on the tennis courts (well, I goofed while Nick and my uncle actually played a real game), watching movies, cooking, eating, and laughing.
Recently I was talking with a friend about my cousins and she commented that I must have been really close to them growing up. I told her that even though we have always lived far apart, I have so many good memories stored up from the time we did get to spend together. I remember a good amount from my childhood, but most of those memories are from vacations with my family.
I can hardly be blamed for wanting to always be on vacation. Yet, Nick reminded me that if I were always on vacation, it wouldn’t be vacation.