Home, sweet home

Vacations are a blast, but there's nothing quite like these moments when the day's over and all the goodbyes are said and I find myself here in the quiet comfort of my own room.
I love the pace of my life most days; it's a good feeling for me to put in a good effort, to give the full day all it's worth. That being said, I think my favorite part is usually after all's said and done, when all the activity is over. It was Frost who wrote that "the fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows," and I think I agree. The quiet moments of reflection are where it's at for me, when I can unwind and think things like "holy crap, I hope I never tell a joke that corny again," or hopefully learn something.
Anyway, all that to say that it feels really, really good to be here in this moment.

The time spent in Orlando and Ocala was an absolute blast. Rock the Universe went as well as could possibly be expected, given the bad weather and crowds and the loss of my favorite $5 Wal-mart sunglasses, which were sacrificed to The Mummy about ten minutes after we entered the park (just goes to show you, when they say hang on to your belongings, they really mean it).
The best part of it all, though, was spending time with Stephanie's family.

It seems to me that as I observe much of the interactions between people these days, pretense seems to be a recurring theme. By this I don't mean to accuse anyone of being false on purpose; far from it. What I mean is that intimacy is tough. Think about it. When was the last you asked how someone was doing and really had time to hear their entire answer? That's why we use pretense, because distance is easy and convenient and saves time. The trouble is, it is impossible to get to know someone deeply without spending some serious chunks of unhurried time with them. I figured this one out after spending high school trying to be everyone's best friend and realizing I couldn't do it. I don't think anyone can. Even Jesus had his levels of intimacy (the twelve, and then the inner circle of Peter, James, and John), my point being that this weekend was a chunk of unhurried time, and I loved it.

I can remember driving the van today and looking over at Stephanie in the passenger seat beside me, my hand in hers, both of us quietly enjoying the sounds of her younger cousins and brother and older uncle playing cards and laughing. "This is a moment we're going to be remembering and telling people about one day," I said, and she nodded, because we both knew it was true.
And the whole weekend was dotted with these gems of unhurried time spent just being, not doing, not on a deadline, but just enjoying each other's company.
Teaching Steph's cousin worship tunes on her guitar with Uncle Martin.
Soccer with the guys (which I'm actually not completely horrible at).
Grocery shopping in our pajamas with Steph and the cousins.
That's what I call a vacation.

If you ever get the chance to spend unhurried chunks of time with people you love, I think you should. It'll remind you of what it means to be human again.