I usually only take holidays once a year. The rest of my year is spent on the job with my only time off being weekends. A weekend is not exactly the same as a holiday because it is just a short period of time and I never really get into the spirit of being away from work. Holidays for me are quite different, I park my job in the furthest reaches of my brain and allow myself to go beyond my everyday responsibilities and be relaxed and live without a planned day.
Sure, I do things but many times they are just spur of the moment things, unscripted events. “Hey why don’t we blah, blah” Honey will say. “Sure, why not,” I’ll reply, “I don’t have anything planned.” See what I mean. Weekends in comparison usually come with a list. Things that need to get completed before time runs out and I need to return to work. Weekends can feel rushed, holidays never do.
Holidays also come with certain rituals that support a life unplanned. The alarm clock is turned off, Baileys Irish Cream replaces regular dairy in morning coffee and certain pieces of clothing are put away not to be seen again until the holiday is over. The most significant of these pieces of clothing are socks, they get ripped off my feet on day one and don’t get used again until the last day. This is because I do not take holidays in cold places.
In fact, I pack only one pair of socks when I travel to the Playa each year and those are for the last day when I must return home to the frigid environment of Canada. Technically I have two pairs because I had to wear one pair on the trip there but they are off by the time the plane lands. The only thing that adorn my feet on holidays are sandals, and only when they are absolutely necessary. In general, I am thrilled to be in a warm climate, away from winter’s chill, absorbing sunshine as much as possible but the happiest part of my body are my feet. On holidays my toes never stop dancing!!
I can sense the joy in my feet. They love the feeling of the sand and the grass and even the bare floor. They sigh in contentment repeatedly throughout the day! I can mentally hear them thanking me for releasing them from the constant restraints of socks and shoes that they are subjected to throughout the rest of the year. My feet love me!!!
Is this silly? Am I becoming unhinged, believing that my feet are telling me that I have done the right thing by unwrapping them and letting them breath? Am I crazy? Don’t answer that! What I am is in tune with all the different parts of what make up the whole that is me. My shoulders still ache from years of repetitive abuse and no amount of sunshine will change that. My back still hurts occasionally, whether I am on holidays or not and my ass becomes numb sitting on airplanes as I journey to the Playa. But my feet sing my praises when I remove those socks at 30,000 feet!! They love me and I love them back for the feeling they give my brain.
I may be the only person alive that have feet that talk (figuratively) but I doubt it. New shoes cause my feet days of agony until the shoes expand and mold to my abnormally shaped feet. It takes months for the shoes to finally be completely comfortable and that’s the point at which they start to fall apart! Living in a northern climate make shoes and socks a necessary evil, something that I must accept if I do not want my feet to turn black and fall off. Maybe my feet would not be so happy to be on holidays if I were at the Playa all the time. I don’t know the answer to that yet but in 27 months I plan to find out. Until then I will be forced to listen to them moan when holidays end and I am once again forced to wrap them up in cotton socks and shove them into the darkness of my steel-toed shoes. But that is not today, today is another day on the beach and today my toes will be doing the happy dance.