Recently I was on vacation in Martha’s Vineyard and noticed lots of people wearing “Black Dog” apparel.  The Black Dog is a local business established in 1971 (I know this because I too now have a t-shirt with this information…) that has become quite popular on the island.  Quickly I realized is this is part of the “vineyard uniform” – daily wear for everyone. 

 And it hit me – every destination vacation has it’s own uniform…Hawaii, yupe, all the tourists wear Hawaiian shirts, skirts and dresses; in Disney – buttons, clothing of all sorts, hats…In Caribbean – braids, they only look good on 10% of the population but about 90% of woman give this a try…Boots/hats in Texas…In Ireland, throw me a wool sweater and some plaid…etc, etc…and the worst part is - I’m guilty of most these fashion blunders myself (thank God not the braids though.)  I suffer from the old motto, “When in Rome…” 

 A friend that I travel with believes this is a display of each person’s desire to bring vacation home, hence you buy the same crap.  I agree but I also think it’s about sharing the experience.  The uniform, however silly, makes vacation feel even further away from your reality left at home.  Not many of us can imagine wearing Caribbean braids to a sales meeting with the boss or how about a sarong?  However on vacation – anything goes…

  Hence you can find me buying Hawaiian music on Maui dressed in a bikini/sarong or t-shirts in the Black Dog Café for everyone in my family.  When in Rome, baby…

I leave tomorrow for my annual girl’s trip.  This year we are headed to Martha’s Vineyard.  No husband, no kids, no work, actual adult “me” time. Often, I’ve discovered during these annual trips, I see myself again. Amusingly, I witness the unique quirks of me over and over without the distraction of kids or a husband…

In my mind’s eye, I am wonderful, flexible traveler. In reality, not so much - sensitive stomach, sleeplessness due to excitement, finicky eater…When I step back and really see it, it’s ridiculous.

The dichotomy of my hopeful mind’s eye (I am a world-class traveler, ready to win the Amazing Race!), and the starch truth of my behavior (porta-potties cause me to wince involuntarily) - it is absurd.  This flexible person in my mind’s eye, well, she just doesn’t exist in reality. Do we all decide how we should be and quietly berate ourselves for not measuring up? The hum of disapproval vibrating in our minds.

I have discovered I am much happier when I operate in the world from the truth of my behavior. I am not a good traveler for all my so called good intentions, and now, I travel prepared – stomach cures, sleeping pills and power bars. I am who I am and I will not be entering the Amazing Race, ever.

When I return from these girls’ trips, I feel softened and empowered. I only go now with one other girlfriend because, well, we’re selfish.  My girlfriend and I met in the first few weeks of college. We have always been mistaken for sisters as we look, dress and act similarly even to this day. We are so much alike, yet our life choices have lead us on very different paths. She is in international law and single. I am married, mother of two and working from my home…Yet we are still sisters. 

For about five days each year we live like sisters again…We giggle, gossip, tease, re-tell the same stories over and over again, shop, eat and drink too much, and listen to the new stories each has to tell.  We have tried to include others, but it doesn’t lead to good places.  The only men we talk to are named Hector and carry trays with umbrella drinks.  We have a fantastic time.

Even with our very different lives, we are able to support each other still. She helps me access my identity before the rest of life crowded in. She helps me play and frankly, stay young.

Several years ago she inspired me to get back into a bikini…I had not worn a bikini in maybe 10 years—I was a Mom, that time had past, my body wasn’t perfect. Again, I heard the hum of disapproval vibrating within. But I did it anyway, and you know what, I looked good.

I looked around the beach and everyone was in bikinis, with all their different bodies for the entire world to see. There were no perfect bodies. Even the sixteen year olds had cellulite. I didn’t have to be perfect. Finally, my mind’s eye had softened to embrace reality. The disapproving hum disappeared, only to be replaced by the crashing of waves and laughter of sisters.

That day is upon us, Valentine’s Day.  A girlfriend and I have referred to it as “Happy V.D.” for years, followed by much giggling.   Valentine’s Day is  quite a conundrum.  I like the idea of celebrating love, but find the whole day, kind of a set up for failure.

If I chose to say I am above that “kind of manufactured display of love” and not participate, certainly I’m unhappy.  Where are my chocolates?  Thank God, I no longer work in an office where the relentless parade of delivered flowers consumed me.  I can honestly say, what I dislike the most, is the exclusionary aspect of the celebration.  You don’t have a Valentine?

I did a little research on the origins of Valentine’s Day using the Wikipedia encyclopedia, only to discover its beginnings had little to do with “romantic love”…

The feast of St. Valentine was first decreed in 496 by Pope Gelasius, possibly as an attempt to supersede the pagan holiday of Lupercalia that was still being celebrated in fifth-century Rome.  Valentine was the name of one or more martyred Christian Saints.  Nothing is known about them except “their feats were known to God”  - a dubious beginning to be sure.

It was in the 14th century that author Geoffrey Chaucer first associated the feast with the notion of “romantic love.”   Ummmm, so we can thank an author with a knack for refined “fart” jokes for this celebration…There is a certain kind of symmetry to that I think.

As you can guess, I do like to participate in Valentine’s Day.  However, I have modified it to fit me.  I send Valentines to my girlfriends.  I give my husband instructions, “Chocolate and lingerie.”    (“Lingerie” can easily be exchanged for “shiny baubles” depending how I feel about my dress size that year.)  I buy my husband and my kids something small with homemade cards attached.  And, I buy myself flowers.   Pretty, pretty flowers.  Happy V.D.

In January I begin dreaming of the beach and my annual girl’s trip.  For years my favorite college friend and I escape to somewhere warm. Last year we went to Mexico - no husband, no kids, actual adult “me” time.  Often, I’ve discovered, during these annual trips, I see myself again.  Amusingly, I witness the quirks of Kelly Ellen.

In my mind, I wish to be a wonderful, flexible traveler.  In reality, not so much.  Sensitive stomach, sleeplessness due to excitement, finicky eater.  When I step back and really see it, it’s ridiculous.  Almost every time I come home with a cold.  Pathetic.  And I giggle.

It is a funny thing indeed to witness the dichotomy of my hopeful mind’s eye, and the starch truth of my behavior.  This flexible person in my mind’s eye, just doesn’t exist in reality.   Do we all decide how we should be and quietly berate ourselves for not measuring up?  The hum of disapproval vibrating in our minds.

I am truly so much happier when I operate in the world from the truth of my behavior.  I am not a good traveler for all my so called good intentions, and now, I travel prepared – stomach cures, sleeping pills and power bars.  I am who I am.

I always return from these trips softened and empowered.   My friend and I met in the first few weeks of my freshman year at college.  We have always been mistaken for sisters as we look, dress and act similarly even to this day.  We are so much alike, yet our life choices have lead us on very different paths.  She is in international law and single.  I am married, mother of two and working from my home.

It is in these very differences that we are able to support each other.  She helps me access my identity before the rest of life crowded in.  She helps me play and frankly, stay young.

I brought 3 bikinis with me on our last trip.  I had not worn a bikini in maybe 8 years—I was a Mom, that time had past, my body wasn’t perfect.  Again, I heard the hum of disapproval vibrating within.  But I did it anyway, and you know what, I looked good.

I looked around the beach and everyone was in bikinis, with all their different bodies for the entire world to see.  There were no perfect bodies.  Even the sixteen year olds had cellulite.  I didn’t have to be perfect.  Finally, my mind’s eye had softened to embrace reality.  The disapproving hum disappeared, only to be replaced by the crashing of waves and laughter of sisters…