Being away on holiday: my worse nightmare.
When I journal - as I do each day - I try to reflect on how I have been feeling in the past 24 hours. The good, the bad and the indifferent. I do this for a number of reasons, but perhaps the most important is to help me understand the why? What was happening for me to evoke that feeling, why did I feel the way I did, what was going on under the surface?
Understanding the why, gives me a chance to improve the what and how for the future.
This morning a classic example.
As I have blogged before, I absolutely hate going on holiday. Hate it. It’s one of my least favourite activities of the year, or any year. Worse than going to the dentist. Worse than watching Formula 1 (and that’s really bad!).
Some much-needed quiet in the Regent’s Park morning
Spring, summer, autumn or winter, it makes no difference to me. Whatever time of year; wherever we go; how ever long we are away, I dread it, endure it and loathe it. This current short trip to London is no exception. In fact, I am writing this midway through the trip to help me make sense of the why and hopefully improve the what and how for the future.
I want to be clear. I appreciate the need for a break from work; to see other places and experience other things; I love being with my girls; and, I don’t hate every bit of it. I love - absolutely love - seeing my wonderful wife and darling daughter happy and enjoying being away. I can find moments of joy and contentment when I am away, but if you gave me the option of being at home or being anywhere in the world on holiday, it would take me a second to choose. Home is always - absolutely always - where my heart is.
The reality of holidays for me is a near perfect storm of anxieties, uncertainties, unfamiliarities and discomforts. It brings together so many of the things that have dogged my sense of being settled, content and safe for years, and, as a result, has impacted my mental health for as long as I can remember. Long before I knew that I had depression and anxiety - as long ago as being a primary school child - I knew that I hated going on holiday.
It was everything about it. The build up; the travelling; the new surroundings; the stress of others (people very often are more than a little stressed when travelling, even if only for a few minutes as they battle through the airport security or as they lift their cases into the overhead luggage racks of the train following the deeply uncomfortable “I’m sorry, but you seem to be sat in my seat” conversation); the homesickness; the loss of routine; the fears - often crippling fears - ranging from the plane is going to crash, to we are going to be murdered in our hotel/apartment/hire car, to we will miss our travel connections back and be stranded for weeks and then of course return to a house that had been flooded/burgled/burnt to the ground etc. All in all, it was far from a holiday for me. It was more an ordeal.
I know that many may have experienced some, or all, of that growing up. It is not unusual for children to fall into those bogey man mind pits and wildly elaborate imaginary scenarios. It is however unusual for grown adults to continue to be occupied by them into their forties, especially when breaks and rests from work are a much-needed, anticipated and savoured part of vital replenishing, recharging and being ready to go again routines. I really enjoy taking time off. I really loathe using it to go on holiday.
Why? Why do I hate it so much, even now, years after shaking off some of the more irrational fears of childhood. Why do I still want to do anything but go away? The simple answer is in what I associate going on holiday, and how that makes me feel.
It is because being on holiday takes me out of my carefully constructed, content, happy, safe and secure day-to-day life and routines. This - some may say - is the whole point of a holiday; to break with the normality and monotony of day to day life. But for me, my normal (healthy and sustainable) day to day life has taken years to establish and much design, trial and error, practice and redesign to get right.
Getting it right means removing most of the sources of stress and anxiety from my life - including being away from home - something I associate with my past life of working too hard or being somewhere I don’t want to be because someone has told me to go. Getting it right means being surrounded with the sights and sounds (or quietness) that make me feel safe - the security of my own environment, with the people I love.
Holidays remind me of long, hot, tetchy queues in airports; drunk, loud passengers, making a show of themselves and me; mini-panics over someone misplacing tickets, passports, addresses for apartments and the like; being in big crowds - the only exception being at a Liverpool game in which all the rules of my anxieties do not apply, because I have always felt and feel safe amongst that part of my extended family; not knowing where I am going or where everything is when we arrive in the dark, in a strange place that I haven’t seen before; jet lag and tiredness and a struggle to find food that will suit everyone (especially since Miss J arrived on the holiday scene); not sleeping well (I never really sleep well but sleeping less well than normal); not being able to get my newspaper - this was always a big deal for me when much younger, less so now in the days of iPads and downloads; the sheer awful, gut-wrenching nervousness of flying and the jumpiness that accompanied every change in noise or movement of the aircraft; counting the number of nights I was away and counting them down each day, wishing them away and grouping them into patterns to make it seem quicker (e.g. in two days there will just be two nights left) - I still do that; just being in a place that no matter how cool, how warm, how beautiful, how luxurious, how amazing, will never be as good as being at home.
At home. Safe. Secure. In control. In my happy place. My comfort zone. Home. Where the heart is.
I have developed better strategies these days for managing holidays and they follow some key themes. Go to places I know and like (with the support of the rest of Team Jones). Stay in the same accommodation. Familiarity. Write when I am away - this is such a settler for me. Let the train take the strain, avoiding flying and airports where possible. Bring as much home stuff as possible for comfort - this sometimes includes my own tea pot (I know weird!) and tea bags. Keep as much day to day routine as possible, including exercise. Recreate as much of home whilst away as possible and don’t get down on myself for being down and missing home.
All that said, I would have given you (as my late nan would have said) a week’s wages, a big clock, or all the tea in China, to have not gone away this week and just stayed at home. But life isn’t just about me and what I want. I am part of a team. I am not an island. I am lucky to have this time with my two wonderful life partners; my amazing wife and incredible daughter. I am embracing the time with them; trying hard to reduce my anxieties and stresses and managing the situation in my head.
But I am also hating being outside my happy place: a place in which everything is under control and underwhelming. Being away is by definition for me like being out of control and overwhelming.
I can manage things better - and I do - but when I ask myself the why question, I know the answer. It is simple. I would rather be at home. Home. Where I am safe and secure, and where I can get all my needs me. Home. Home sweet home. That’s why holidays are a nightmare for me - they are simply never as good as being at home. Not by miles.