Walking into your office after a week away is one of
the most deflating experiences this life has to offer. Yesterday, I decided to
do so to prepare for my first day back. My desk was piled with 8 days worth of
mail and correspondence, a prodigious mound of worry covering almost its entire
working surface. Then I glanced at my phone, saw the blinking red light and the
number “22” in the message window. “Welcome back Mr. Dunnevant”
Two hours later, I had plowed through all of it,
sorting it all into workable piles on the floor, this pile containing the stuff
that must be filed, that pile the stuff that needs some sort of action, and a third pile
that I get to throw away. Then I catalogued all of the
phone messages. Thankfully, there were no emergencies, no angry clients
wondering why on earth I would be taking a vacation on the very day they needed
to speak to me. I then set about prioritizing the order in which these 22 calls
must be returned. I transferred this information onto my very old school “to do
list” on the yellow pad that always sits just to the right of the laptop on my
credenza. When I was done, twenty five items required my attention for the week
of July 29th.
This is the bargain we make with ourselves every
summer. We plan a vacation with the family someplace far, far away from work
and the reality of our lives. We go, and temporarily turn our backs on our responsibilities.
It’s glorious, and we love every minute of it, but in the dimly lit recesses of
our brain, (right beside old high school memories and to the left of memorized
poetry), there lies a poorly suppressed thought, the first day back at work is
going to be horrible. But we accept it as a necessary part of being a
functioning adult. We can’t have the vacation without the job, unless we are
members of Congress where one is indistinguishable from the other.
So, back to work, where I will do my duty and begin
plotting the details of my next vacation, which lies somewhere out there at the
end of a rainbow.
