I struggle with vacations. Not in the way you often hear people talk about it, not in the “I have too much work to do,” “I’m indispensable,” over-functioning kind of way*

Whenever I tell people about a vacation—does one “take” or “go on” vacation? Those seem like very different things—they always ask where I’m going. I travel a fair amount for work and my husband and I do love to travel, but by the time I’m looking at taking vacation time during the summer I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to plan anything. I don’t want to herd any cats, since THAT’S WHAT I DO THE REST OF THE YEAR! I find myself longing just to stay at home.

I also end up seeing this time as some kind of epic reset button for the chaos in my home. I’m not a very organized person and there are always backed up, overdue, leftover projects that need doing. Where did I put our tax papers? We should really repair that broken chair, which requires going through the stuff that’s piled on top of it, which inevitably means finding some papers that need filing, photos to be dealt with, a sweater that should probably be returned to the friend who left it here six months ago, a souvenir from a trip three years ago . . .

Yet I feel pressure to “go on” vacation. We were invited to spend a weekend with friends in Michigan and I began to plan an epic roadtrip that involved a drive all the way around the lake, seeing a friend and colleague in the UP, visiting a family homestead in Northern Michigan, going to Mackinac Island. My husband pushed back, and I realized that I didn’t really want to go on an epic road trip. I want to stay home (except for that weekend with friends). I want to make home a place that refreshes me. Then I might have the energy and wherewithal to plan that epic road trip. Maybe next year.

*Although this year has had whiffs of that. I won’t really have a chance to check out completely from work this year: I live where I work and there are things that just demand my attention, and my attention alone.