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All I have for you tonight is a few photos. Photos from our vacation that I meant to post and write about immediately (and beautifully!) as part of an effort to be more committed to writing and to this blog. And then, I got busy. Except I wasn't busy, I was just avoiding.

For those who have been vacationing in a New York Times free zone, or who reached their limit on free articles like I did this month, you might not know that busyness, and the anxiety that is produced when we worry we aren't doing enough, has been a hot topic lately.

First, Tim Kreider wrote a piece called The 'Busy' Trap. Next, the chorus weighed in with odes to summertime, to hammock swinging, to long afternoons trapped by an all consuming book. {For the record, this wasn't supposed to be another voice in that clamoring chorus. I hope I'm at least successful in this.}

So the thing is, at first I really was too busy to write. Sean and I spent two blissful weeks in Pt. Reyes, where my daily schedule went something like this: Wake, make coffee, move to recliner chair. Work (a bit), think, write. Lunch. Write, think. Long hike. Shower, wine, read till the sun drops away. Dinner. Friday Night Lights. Repeat. Repeat.

Notice there's nothing in there about blogging or pinning or tweeting. And nary a facebook post came out of those 14 days.  It was amazing. I felt more me than I've felt in a long time and spent many hours thinking about how and why.

We drove back into the city on our first wedding anniversary, and I spent the entire next week (yes, week) trying to get over my post-vacation malaise while simultaneously trying to figure out how to incorporate my vacation spirit into my real life. My friend Megan was right, however. It doesn't really work.

Then, of course, after all that, after nearly three weeks of vacations and bottles of wine and mid-week holidays and work avoidance it really did get busy. And yet -- when I look at my calendar I actually have no idea what I did. I just felt busy. Not just busy, stressed. Disconnected. 

But why? I felt busy, and just as Kreider guessed, that busyness was a mask for anxiety. I'm sure it's because there's so much happening that can't be written about and posted next to a neat stack of chocolate brownies. These are serious things. Sean's mom went into the hospital, came out, and today went back in. Last week, during a family meeting, she asked me to blog about her death. It seems like that sentence should be attached to some sort of funny quip but it isn't. Not at all.

Normally, when I take some time away, I jump back in with lots of explanations and most of them involve the world 'travel' and 'busy' (and we all know that travel is busy, much of the time). But thanks to recent thoughts, that busy label seems much less authentic. Because, as I've just mentioned, it's so much more than that.

Summer Reading

I've been plowing through books lately, and consuming them with the same frantic, never-come-up-for-air feeling that I remember from childhood. Back then, I used to check out a dozen books from the library and then descend into the basement for a cool, dark escape. I'd spend days down there, only coming up to eat, run through the sprinklers, or to return to the library for more books.

These days my reading time is more limited. I'm lucky if I get in thirty minutes before sleep (I'm talking book reading, people. I read a lot of blogs and articles during the day. My favorite form of procrastination!)

But one of the best parts of vacation is that there is always time for reading. While in Point Reyes I developed a delicious habit: A mid to late afternoon long hike, followed by a shower and then a long (two hours, plus) cocktail hour devoted to book reading and wine sipping. Finally, when my glass was empty, my stomach gnawing, and a chapter finished I'd go in search of dinner. Just like I did when I was a kid.

Over the past couple of weeks I've devoured Rules of Civility, Bringing Up Bebe, Turn of Mind, and Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place.

On the 4th of July I finished reading The Help (I can't wait to finally watch the movie!) And now, two days later, I'm trolling around for something new. This is on my nightstand, but last night I fell asleep while reading The New Yorker article about Ben Stiller. I also want to re-read Coming To My Senses, which I first read earlier this year in proof and adored.

What's on your summer reading list?