High Days and Holidays

There is a moment before every holiday when I rather wished I wasn't going away.  It happens every time and my loving and tolerant family try to be understanding and tender as I get myself more and more worked up over the impossiblity of attempting indulgence.  The multiple layers of guilt that unfold as I set myself more and more impossible tasks to complete before day zero approaches can, if unchecked, limit, if not ruin, any benefits of going on holiday.  Which is silly, after all, why go on holiday if not to enjoy yourself?

Well, yes, that is, of course, if you appreciate who you are and what your value in the world is.  How many people go on holiday because it is expected, or perhaps a badge of membership of a group you think you belong to, hope to belong to or comfortable staying within the bounds of?

Why go on holiday?  It was a question the Absent Father would raise to me, a question I couldn't answer because I've always gone on holidays, and he hadn't.  It was not until long after he had left that, well now, really, that I have thought about it and pose today's question: what is a holiday for?



In years gone by, days away from work were usually to related to a religious festival.  I'm no historian, so I've used The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles as my point of reference.  The first reminder is that 'holiday' comes from combining two words 'holy' and 'day' so clearly the back of my mind is storing information on some level and not just lists of things I've forgotten to do. The second definition is thus

"A day on which work is suspended; a day of recreation or amusement "

I wonder when the idea of having more than one day away from work was first mooted.  I'm perfectly well aware that the Mills of the North closed for weeks and the heyday of Blackpool, Butlins and all those holidays I've never taken.  My experience of holidays was much less proscribed.  My parents both came from families who travelled, and indeed there are books and books, both handwritten and typed, stored up in my attic, detailing adventures on trains, boats, planes, camels, and the odd surfboard, by generations before me.  My parents were both infected with wonderlust for new places, something that I really don't possess. But I do get bored in the same place, doing the same thing all the time.  I like change every so often, but equally get terrified by the unknown.  It makes me confusing to know.  If you find me attractive it could be endearing and cute but if you are of the AF's persuasion it merely confirms the notion that I'm unreliable and irritating.  Having spent many years living with the judgment of others as my only valid reference point, it is new territory for me to say that feeling differently about the same experience some of the time is ok.  It really is fine to dread with cold fear the new adventure that approaches, when it was all my idea in the first place, and I tingled in anticipation when booking the holiday.

I am beginning to learn how to meet my needs in my new life, which I'm sure you're all thrilled to hear. I suppose we should all hope I don't try and impose my solutions on the rest of you as the Sarah from the Other Life might have done, but I'm getting to realise this is my way and no recipe for the 'flawless plan'.  If I think it's not working, I can always try something else.  No-one will think any the less of me, not even me, and there's progress if ever I saw it.  One of the things I know I need is regular breaks away from my home and hearth.  Being a teacher in a local school has many plus points, the commuting time for one, but the nature of the job is that it absorbs you totally.  That absorption has been a life saver when my blue days strike.  If you are a regular on the blog you will know that these do have a habit of ambushing me when I really should be grateful for my lot.  I can go on, and on, about the pointlessness of life and the futility of my single existence, but the reality really is I have much to be grateful for.  As time goes on the life I am creating for myself is taking more form, partly because it is isn't proscribed by rules and regulations; the fact 'We' did things this a certain way.  However I changed things during the marriage though, always restless.  I was a great one for moving furniture round rooms, trying something else out believing there was a better way than that which appeared stale or ill-fitting.  Was that an earlier indicator that 'the marriage' was not settled, or merely just the dynamic force of time and circumstances?  It's an 'Angels on a Pinhead' type of question, i.e. pointless.  What has happened, has happened and for good or ill, here I am, trying to hold onto whilst a small part of me screams every so often 'what is the point, what IS the point'?

Which is how it feels in those tense few hours before the 'off'  The number of things that could 'go wrong' surface to haunt my mind, prone as I am to juggle several disagreeable options in my mind at once thinking exit strategies for all, which is of course, more or less impossible, and thus making my company more and more challenging for those around me.

It really does seem ridiculous as I sit and write, trying to put my mind in the place it occupies before holidays.  Why do I do it?  I think it is a residue from the old days when I felt so responsible for everybody's happiness.  It was always my idea to go on holiday, something I had to persuade the AF was a good thing.  Of course, it also involved 'Spending His Money' for which I can see now I was made to and I felt very guilty for doing.  My brother, always irritatingly perceptive, said that AF tended regard the money he earned as 'His', whereas my brother said as far as he was concerned he didn't have money, it was 'Theirs', his and his wife's,  with equal rights and access to it.  This statement left me reeling, as I tried to tease out whether this was the truth of my situation, or just my brother's not fully informed, but well meant, opinion.  It was one of those 'Oh Goodness, Yes You Might Have a Point' moments.  Did the AF so little regard me that although he wanted me to be happy, he retained a possessive on the purse strings? In his defence (yes, not a phrase I like to use very often) I was dreadfully frightened of money during my marriage, and needed looking after and taking care of.  I tried to be brave, but just wasn't, and was ashamed of my cowardice.  Sometimes I was capable of challenging my inner terrors, planning and structuring, whilst at others the fright would overwhelm and all I could do was run away.  What did he do?  I don't remember being ground down, but I was showing Jacqs a picture taken in mid 2006 of AF and I in black tie going to DN1's school Leavers Ball.  The woman who looked back at me in those pictures startles me today, not just because I was fat and badly dressed, but there is a reticence in the eyes, a fear, a sense of failure.  I look older than I look today with my neat middle-aged mousey bob and hideous, strapless, flesh pink, floor length, silk two-piece, without either a decent bra or spray tan to set it off.  There is absolutely no way I would allow myself out of the house like that now, and the expensive, badly boned top and skirt went to a charity shop a couple of years ago having never been worn since that evening.

After I found out about his affair and before he left, we  'talked ' a lot.  I was trying to understand why the man I loved had stopped loving me and taken up with His Woman.  In a rare moment of savage honesty he said 'I looked round and you were double the size of every woman in the room'  The fact that His Woman is hardly a candidate for the Superskinny one on that marvellous programme 'Supersize Superskinny' still grates somewhat.  But he felt powerless to do anything about what he saw as my failures.  They were for me to address.  However, the woman looking out at me in that old photo didn't believe in herself, because the years of being disregarded had taken their toll.  True, I should have had more self worth, but what should one expect from a partner?  How does that potion called love really work?  Ordinary people see extraordinary beauty and value in other ordinary people.  If only truly good and beautiful people were ever the ones to love and be loved, how many of us could hope to be in that cohort?

The last holiday was a good one.  Skiing with my girls and a bunch of people I hadn't met before.  The snow was deep and packed, the sun shone some of the time.  I fell over a bit, but not enough to worry, and made it down the black runs with pleasure.  I drank schnapps at 5pm with the women in my room having trudged in from the slopes, full of stories of struggles and achievements.  I laughed in the bar most nights and one evening stared in wonder at the stars as furry horses jangled round the snow covered fields outside the village pulling our sleigh in the darkness.  Before it I was terribly scared as I hadn't skied for four years and had back problems in the weeks running up to the holiday.  It was the kind words of DN1 as I sobbed in terror on the first day at the thought of 'failing' and not being able to do it that saw me through.  I enjoyed my holiday.  I may not have been the fastest, the most stylish, the longest on the mountain or the best looking.  But at those moments when it all clicked and I stopped trying, it became easy and the surge of well being soared through me.  Why go on a holiday?  Why not?