The first few days of any family trip my dad would get what we called “Vacationitis” – which in retrospect was a poor term because it did not swell our vacation. In reality, he had anxiety about letting go of work and his daily routine or what is clinically known as Shpilkes. It made him often irritable and at best disconnected. Vacationitis usually took three days to run its course and then a happy, healthy, jovial dad would appear.
As a kid, it made absolutely no sense that my dad wouldn’t be excited about vacation and even less that he worried about most random things like “Did anyone check the backdoor before we left?” and “Are we sure the gas is off on the stove?” All of this being a little extra funny because my mom handled most household things – especially the stove – and she was very on-the-ball with vacation departure checklists. All of the blinds were lowered, curtains closed, appropriate lights on, etc. Always.
As an adult, I understand what my dad went through much better. In my forties, I’m responsible for a lot of shit and there are so many details.
I don’t know if my dad’s condition would be made worse or better by today’s technology. Had he my iPhone he could keep an eye on his work communications, be alerted by Ring of any comings and goings at our house, known anyone could have reached him if needed – maybe that would have eased those first few days. At the same time, he may have always been a little removed and distracted because now, we never fully unplug the way he did.
I had a small collision with Vacationitis when my cousin Jacob and I went into the Borneo rainforest for four days. I’m not sure why I thought my phone would still work or there might be WiFi at the jungle camp. But as the long tail boat took us from the dock into the deep backwaters of the rainforest, I realized I might well be going dark. My people knew I was going into the depths of Borneo – but I hadn’t explicitly told them I would go dark. Perhaps they had assumed? Maybe I should have sent off one more text or email? I had a serious case of Shpilkes for about two hours until I realized – I was in a jungle in Borneo. I wasn’t going back. It was really cool. Might as well put the phone away and enjoy this incredible experience. And just like that, I was fine.
Travel is my thing. Going away is always a joy for me. I don’t leave without having my ducks lined up. And, in most cases, I have a working iPhone if not also laptop on me – so for better and worse, I’m not truly disconnected.
That’s what made the beginning of this week so strange. From the time I arrived back on Patmos Sunday morning through Tuesday, I was jangly. I wrote a blog post on Shpilkes – because it’s always better to acknowledge the Shpilkes which thrives in denial and suppression. I made a list of all the things I felt needed doing, started back with yoga, accomplished most of my list because, well, I’m alone on Patmos. If I can’t get things done in this situation, then I can’t really get things done. My world feels more in order now and I plan to spend my weekend primarily on Petra, reading, swimming and finishing when I feel like it – not when it’s time to get home for work (which I know is a lame complaint because I get to be at the beach during the day at the cost of working on my front porch on Patmos facing a yard now lit up with fairy lights and a view of the moon).
All of this to say, anxiety is real and I don’t know another adult my age who doesn’t have some version of it. Not necessarily in the clinically problematic way needing medication or therapy – although I think therapy is like Jello, there’s always room for it – but it’s hard to be a responsible, functioning adult with kids, jobs and bills and not experience some Shpilkes. The more I know about my friends and people in my life, the more I realize – it’s not about whether you have Shpilkes, it’s how you handle it. Some people develop their systems and others don’t. Of course a few people have a higher-than-average level of Shpilkes and need some clinical support. That’s fine too – it’s still handling it.
I was surprised by my own beginning-of-the-week angst. Usually I take to alone-time in Patmos pretty well. This is definitely where and when I get to decompress. I think there has been a lot more compression to undo. In a way, it seems almost inverse of what I would expect. In many ways, my life is much better right now than it has been since I got the house.
I’m working with and for really nice, sane people. I have a good steady job I enjoy which keeps me engaged but doesn’t overwhelm me – and the steady pay and benefits that go with it. The divorce is over and Emily and I cooperate smoothly – which perhaps was improved by Sennen’s Bar Mitzvah. The kids are doing well. I’m not in a relationship right now, but I’m also not in anything that’s stressing me. The house here is not a critical project like it was the first two years. I have good people. While I enjoyed it immensely, I’m not Temple President anymore. I’m not even Immediate Past President anymore. I have regained bandwidth and lightened my load – even though despite its challenges, being Temple President probably occurred at a really opportune time for me – during the thick of the divorce when staying busy and distracted was helpful. Losing my dad sucked – and I’m no longer worried for him and know he’s no longer suffering. We’re all off the decline that was followed by the rollercoaster.
In short – and not to tempt fate – things feel stable.
So, why the freak-out?
I don’t know except maybe I just needed to freak out. Maybe there were just a lot of emotions that needed daylight. Maybe the transition from months of shaping myself around what needed to be done to having a lot more choice about what I do was a little overwhelming.
One friend who is going through something mentioned that wherever he is, whatever he is dealing with, he finds a routine – which helps. There’s a part of me that hates how true it is, but the older we get, the more routine helps us feel safe and grounded. Actually, we’re like that when we’re young too. It’s only the earlier parts of adulthood where we get crazy and spontaneous. Kids feel safest within a structure provided to them by parents and caregivers – and adults with responsibilities also lean on routine to ease the burden.
My friend knows to lean into that – which I admire.
I suppose the blank canvas I had felt scary for a moment. I needed to find my new structure here – not only what I wanted from it exactly but the structure I needed to create to support my goals. Even decompressing is a goal. Once I inventoried my needs and expectations for these weeks on Patmos by myself, I was able to find a structure that works. It’s not like I had to stretch – I’ve done it before. At the same time, no two time periods are the same – we’re not the same – and so I needed to tailor the plan for this year. Oddly, getting the lights working in the yard REALLY helped my stress. I didn’t realize how daunting that felt or how much it would change my enjoyment of the house until it was done.
In his last days, my father went through his watch collection and picked out something to give each family member. My sister got his most prized Movado. Sennen received the watch my dad got for his Bar Mitzvah – and wore it at his own Bar Mitzvah. My dad left me my grandpa’s broken Timex.
This watch didn’t belong to my paternal grandfather who passed before I was born, but to my mom’s father who I grew up with and to whom I was close. It seems when my grandpa went through his own phase of dividing up personal belongings to give away before he died, my dad asked for my grandpa’s everyday watch – a simple, utilitarian Timex. I guarantee you my dad never wore it. My dad explained to me he liked the watch because it spoke to the man who wore it – straightforward, utilitarian, no glamor, no fuss, understated. Just like I asked for my grandpa’s backyard ashtray – something I will never use or offer anyone else use – the Timex was my dad keeping a little piece of the man who had been a kind, warm father-in-law for 37 years.
From his hospital bed, my dad explained how my grandpa was a man of routine and responsibility. All he needed was a solid, reliable watch to do the job.
This wasn’t completely a compliment. My dad admired my grandpa’s strength, loyalty, steadfastness – but also felt my grandpa may have missed some of life’s joys and high points because he stayed so firmly on the tracks. There were occasions when I didn’t find something my dad said so funny or amusing as he meant them and I would occasionally be told I was too much like my grandpa.
However they were meant, I took the comments as a compliment – because I would always prefer to be more, not less like my grandpa in all the ways that matter.
Unlike most of the watches my dad gave away, mine was part of a conversation.
I understand my dad’s perspective that life has to have some spontaneity and serendipity. It’s important to appreciate the aesthetics, moods and explore. There’s a lot outside our everyday periphery.
Only, as a guy writing this from a small island in the Dodecanese who has lived in multiple countries and speaks a few languages, I don’t think I’m missing my dad’s point.
If anything, I see the watch as a virtuous reminder. Yes, my grandpa may have been more routine than I would like to be. But he succeeded in all the ways that matter. He embodied values and traits I most appreciate. He was honest, fair, loving, supportive and showed up for everyone in his life. Better than anyone I have ever met, my grandpa understood the ideas the Fox shared with The Little Prince – that we are responsible TO each other.
That is the weighty core of adult life.
Since we can’t think about this all the time or we’ll go nuts with anxiety and overwhelm, routine is a shortcut. Structure helps us cover the basics, giving us the foundation to ideally have some room to address life’s issues, adjust to the seasons that come and if we’re lucky, find room to explore, appreciate and be occasionally spontaneous. Structure helps us thrive – whether we like it or not.
Maybe the Timex is best off with me.
