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I like the idea of traveling the world, but I know I will never do it—unless my life circumstances change in a significant way.
Allow me to clarify. I know there is immense value in exploring new places. I love the idea of learning about new (to me) cultures, geography, and ways of life. I am all about experiences over stuff.
And yet, growing up in scarcity mode drilled into me a fear—that persists to this day—of not being able to take care of my family or have a roof over my head, even when there is enough to pay the bills (and then some). Also, because I make my living as a freelancer there is a clear connection between time off and cash flow.
And so, just as toys, dessert, and even family photographs were considered “wants” not “needs” in my family growing up, travel feels similar. We have only traveled by airplane as a family once, 11 years ago. Any trips I have taken with my kids otherwise by plane, and many of our New England family adventures over the years have been part of travel writing assignments. Those trips have been such a gift and I also am working—taking photos, shooting videos, jotting down notes, developing editorial arcs along the way.
The good news is, every time I have a flicker of guilt about not giving my kids amazing non-work vacation experiences—this tends to crop up during school vacations when others are traveling—I am reminded of the gift of quiet. And of me being present.
Over the recent Easter weekend, when Laurel was back home from college, I was reminded that my kids want my wellness most of all.
As you may have gathered from some of my essays (and if you have access to my paid subscription posts), I have been in a hard place for the past couple of months. The image that most often comes to mind is Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, crawling through 500 yards of sewage to get to the other side.
I wish I was exaggerating.
What this means is that my beloved squad sees me at my lowest. They see my tears, my stress, my frustration. Sometimes I have fleeting moments where I worry that I am traumatizing my kids, and then I keep reminding myself about the chest of gold doubloons, which I have been filling since 2004.
Easter weekend was the first time in several weeks that I took the time for true rest. I cleared my calendar on Friday so we could have a long weekend together. We didn’t do anything extraordinary; the weekend was filled with things like learning how to play Rummy 500, laughter over Guesstures rounds, quiet reading time, yummy meals and lots of snacks, playing tablet games, binging Grey’s Anatomy with Laurel, and poodle play.
For Easter we don’t do big baskets or a special meal but our tradition is a simple, old fashioned egg hunt. I buy a couple of bags of drugstore candy and fill the eggs, Jon hides them, and the girls delight in the hunt. Several years ago, the girls decided they wanted two rounds so they could take a turn hiding eggs for me and Jon. They have taken to putting the pieces of a riddle that needs to be decoded inside the eggs.
We did just this and the riddles led us to a landing space where Violet presented us with gifts. She had plotted and planned and even hit Walgreens by herself to procure gifts for me, Jon, and her sister.
My eyes started to leak as I unwrapped this remarkable, thoughtful collection of purchases, and it was the hand drawn “coupon to chill” that opened the floodgates. It reminded me of something I read many years ago: When kids were surveyed about what they want most, the majority did not say fancy trips or material goods. What they wanted was the adults in their lives to be happy and less stressed.
I’m working on it kiddos. Thank you for being patient with me. And for creating quiet moments together that I will treasure always.
P.S. I explained to Violet that I was thinking about writing about this story. I explained what Substack is, how many people subscribe to my newsletter, and the broader accessibility of this essay on the internet. She gave me her consent to share this story and photo.
I'm proud to be your brother. Appreciate your vulnerability and your ability to share that it's okay not to be perfect. You are an amazing role model for your daughters!