This is a hard post to write.
Vacations are always hard to write about because no one can relate.
But oh, the guilt.
Guilt is dirty. It’s right up there with shame, worry, and jealousy. They are the emotions that make us ugly people. The better you are at brushing these feelings off, well, I don’t really know because I’m a little pig rolling in the mud.
I travel a lot. I wish I could validate this statement by saying it’s for work. It’s not. The second I walk into Kansas City International Airport, I feel it – travel guilt.
Money guilt The cost of this plane ticket and hotel could go towards paying off our credit card, the retirement fund, the kids’ college tuition or anything synonymous with the word adult.
Kid guilt “No, mommy! Please don’t go!” The dagger.
Jealousy guilt “That bitch went on vacation again?!” I can hear your thoughts.
Friendship guilt Scott planned the trip with his friends and that included who we shared hotel rooms with. If it was up to me, you’re all invited.
We traveled to Breckenridge, Colorado last weekend. We visited the Rocky Mountains for pleasure.
Oh, wait. Let me say that again – for “pleasure.”
Ah, Breckenridge. A sight for the eyes because no picture can do it justice. The air is thin. Snow is powder. Everyone is high. Well, yes, some are that kind of high but we’re all high-high. It’s 10,000 feet above sea level. A height where we’ve heard it all before – “it is now safe to turn on all electronic devices.”
We traveled with the friends that turn on their electronic devices when I FALL OFF A LIFT. They missed the part where I scream at Scott.
I screamed at Scott here, too. This was all his idea.
“It’ll be fun, Bug! We can ski all day, sit in the hot tubs at night, maybe enjoy a couple breweries.”
“Oh, sure. Ok, I can be a snow bunny!”
I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’ll say it – LIES.
I don’t get it. Maybe my parents should have taken me to the mountains as a child. I didn’t hear one kid scream like I did. Ski lessons at Breckenridge must include a lesson in bravery.
I know for a fact that my lungs want to fail at altitude. I came prepared with a can of Boost Oxygen. It works wonders when my body’s response to anyone skiing within five feet of me is hyperventilation.
Or maybe I’m not athletic enough. I’m comfortable under a bench press. I’m not comfortable raising my heart rate. Multiple falls from 5 feet, 9 inches is hard on my old bones of 34 years. Look at my friend, Kathy. She busted her ACL and MCL on the first day of skiing.
And I grew a mustache to keep warm.
Scott got felt up on the second day because mountain men taking selfies are dangerous too.
And then Scott landed in a tree on the third day. Look hard. He’s in there, Waldo.
I eventually stuffed a ski up Scott’s ass on purpose and followed directions from his friend, Hunter. I couldn’t yell at Hunter for cheerleading me down a mountain. We don’t have that special husband and wife bond. Hunter taught me how to zig zag down the hill of death. He taught me to relieve pressure off one leg to turn. It started to make sense. Everyone falls.
I realized if I was going to survive, I would have to do it myself. No one can help me but me. A nurse once told me that years ago while I was pushing a tiny human from my body.
By the end of our trip, I could ski on the easiest ski runs.
This trip wasn’t for cocktails and umbrellas. You could say it was for work – the hard, physical kind of work. The travel guilt is always there. This time I came home with the pleasure knowing I made it down alive.
Are you comfortable skiing? Do you prefer mountain vacations or beach vacations? Do you feel guilty when you travel? What kind of guilt do you feel? I swear my vacations are over for now. I’ll be in Kansas, at sea level.