And so, when the mundane, the ordinary, the common-place become oppressive we vacate (if we are able) or we dream about doing so. For, inherent is us is that desire to live on our own terms, to experience the new, the distant, the novel, to be pampered, treated as important, to matter. And during that time, if it were possible (for that would require us being gods), we would say to Tomorrow, "Advance no further," and to the Moment, "Be in no hurry to take your leave." All we desire (and that is not asking a whole lot) is simply an unburdening, a forgetting, a suspension of the day-to-day, an escape, a re-birth.
But in the end, the realization sets in that living on our own terms is a luxury that is subject to the constraints of time and means and that we need must depart. And while futilely objecting to our departure, we become alarmingly aware of its necessity since that to which we escaped could in itself become ordinary. And so we return to our banal existence once again. And in a strange way, it is that prosaic existence that provides the structure we so need and that, in effect, gives us solidity, authenticity, and meaning - until that meaning again becomes clouded or slowly fades, reminding us of the necessary symbiosis of vocation and vacation.
[Photographic Art by Ric Couchman]