My previous entry caused me to reflect on the last time I travelled outside of the UK and how my mental state can prevent me from having a good time.
I haven't been abroad, or even on an extended holiday since I went to New York in 2008. I went alone and stayed with a friend who lived there. She would work during the day as I wandered and we would meet during the evening. I had always dreamed of going to NYC, seeing the Empire State Building, Rockafella Centre, Statute of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, the fire house from Ghostbusters. I even played on the giant piano from 'Big.' Or a replica of it, at least.
I experienced all of those, including the Natural History Museum, where we sang the theme to Jurassic Park at the top of our lungs. I met people on the street, had money stolen from me by two jolly guys who gave me candy in return and experienced a rapping tour guide. The highlight was standing on the pier at Coney Island with my friends Richelle, Matt, Steph and Traczie, at night, watching fireworks and then going on the cyclone roller coaster (I am even more thankful to experience this, due to Coney Island closure not long after). We finished the night driving through the city, eating a burrito place and watching episodes of Freaks and Geeks. I still often reminisce about that week and that night particular.
I left New York ecstatic that I had been able to spend time with my friend and experience such an amazing city. I had also left New York feeling annoyed and rather empty and indifferent.
Sunday, 21 July 2013
The Rain in Spain
My Dad recently announced, out of the blue, that we were going on a family holiday to Málaga, Spain. It's a discount holiday, where my Dad has to spend a day or so listening to pitches by people trying to sell him Mediterranean apartments, but it's still a holiday. I don't pay a penny, outside of spending money, it's all on him. We'll be going in a few weeks. Score. Right?
As a family, we haven't been on holiday together in ten years. We haven't been abroad together in almost 20 years. I haven't personally been on any kind of holiday, even inland in five years. I have left the country twice in the last 15 years.
I don't want to go.
I'm probably insane, I know.
I turned 28 years old last Friday. Last year, I moved back in with my parents until I decided where I was going to go next. A temporary situation which has lasted much longer than I'd have liked. I get on with my family quite well, but the idea of spending time in a foreign country with them is daunting. I had come to terms with those day being behind me. I am independent now, apparently.
That, I can probably deal with though. What irks me, and it really shouldn't, is that my Dad organised the destination and time without consulting any of us. Málaga is surely a beautiful place, but when it comes to the idea of getting away and vacationing, my Dad and I are miles apart. His idea of a holiday is sun, a beach during the day and a bar during the evening. You need nothing else, other than the ability to tan. Essentially, this is Málaga.
For me, that's a recipe for a mental breakdown. I like the sun, but I am one of those people who moans when it's too hot. Anything over 20 is too hot. I get bored on the beach very easily, I like to sight see, adventure, be educated, keep my mind active, not sit and bake. I like a city or the country. Sand, not so much. Spain itself doesn't really do anything for me. I am selfish.
As I said in an earlier post, my mental well being could be better, I am keeping it at bay by keeping myself in my work or in a book. Right now, I don't want a break from that. A break could be the worst possible thing I need.
I know that I will want to spend time away from my family during this holiday and will want to keep my mind active, find something inspiring. I have stocked up on books and notepads for this. I worry that I will lash out at my family out of frustration. I will be given too much time to think and allow negativity to seep into my psyche, to beat myself up for being a 28 year old man who still lives with his parents, has no real career and is currently staying in a two bedroom apartment with them, smelling of sun cream. I am scared about not being able to work for a week, being told to cheer up when I can't physically do it. I am petrified of coming across as ungrateful and childish and turning this into the antithesis of a holiday. If I have to take a break, I have to be engaged.
I rarely leave the country, I should be jumping at the chance to do so. Especially in Twenty Thirtian. The guilt of being ungrateful is weighing me down right now. I am sure, had this been a democratic decision, we'd have agreed on somewhere which could cater for us all and I would be in a complete opposite frame of mind, feeling like the luckiest guy on earth. I am also sure that I will enjoy Málaga, I will finally stop being ungrateful, realise that I finally experiencing something new and find something to inspire me. For now, I hate myself for hating this.
As a family, we haven't been on holiday together in ten years. We haven't been abroad together in almost 20 years. I haven't personally been on any kind of holiday, even inland in five years. I have left the country twice in the last 15 years.
I don't want to go.
I'm probably insane, I know.
I turned 28 years old last Friday. Last year, I moved back in with my parents until I decided where I was going to go next. A temporary situation which has lasted much longer than I'd have liked. I get on with my family quite well, but the idea of spending time in a foreign country with them is daunting. I had come to terms with those day being behind me. I am independent now, apparently.
That, I can probably deal with though. What irks me, and it really shouldn't, is that my Dad organised the destination and time without consulting any of us. Málaga is surely a beautiful place, but when it comes to the idea of getting away and vacationing, my Dad and I are miles apart. His idea of a holiday is sun, a beach during the day and a bar during the evening. You need nothing else, other than the ability to tan. Essentially, this is Málaga.
For me, that's a recipe for a mental breakdown. I like the sun, but I am one of those people who moans when it's too hot. Anything over 20 is too hot. I get bored on the beach very easily, I like to sight see, adventure, be educated, keep my mind active, not sit and bake. I like a city or the country. Sand, not so much. Spain itself doesn't really do anything for me. I am selfish.
As I said in an earlier post, my mental well being could be better, I am keeping it at bay by keeping myself in my work or in a book. Right now, I don't want a break from that. A break could be the worst possible thing I need.
I know that I will want to spend time away from my family during this holiday and will want to keep my mind active, find something inspiring. I have stocked up on books and notepads for this. I worry that I will lash out at my family out of frustration. I will be given too much time to think and allow negativity to seep into my psyche, to beat myself up for being a 28 year old man who still lives with his parents, has no real career and is currently staying in a two bedroom apartment with them, smelling of sun cream. I am scared about not being able to work for a week, being told to cheer up when I can't physically do it. I am petrified of coming across as ungrateful and childish and turning this into the antithesis of a holiday. If I have to take a break, I have to be engaged.
I rarely leave the country, I should be jumping at the chance to do so. Especially in Twenty Thirtian. The guilt of being ungrateful is weighing me down right now. I am sure, had this been a democratic decision, we'd have agreed on somewhere which could cater for us all and I would be in a complete opposite frame of mind, feeling like the luckiest guy on earth. I am also sure that I will enjoy Málaga, I will finally stop being ungrateful, realise that I finally experiencing something new and find something to inspire me. For now, I hate myself for hating this.
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