I have been suffering of late from what I have learned to think of as Post Vacation Depression. It’s precisely what it sounds like. I recognize fully that this is a privileged sort of ailment, but like any suffering — it is real. I’m not really mopey or anything, I just can’t bring myself to do simple things like blog, for instance, or even look at the photos that I took during our recent Costa Rica adventure. This morning I made baby steps, however, and am currently in the process of sifting through the pictures that I took and plan to post here — in part — very soon.
Looking back, I remember these feelings from childhood when I would do something like come home from church camp. The longing for newly made friends, the angsty tween crush, the sweet memories of that last night at the camp dance when we all linked arms and swayed to Michael W. Smith’s “Friends are Friends Forever”. Whew. I’ve had similar emotions as an adult, too, following post-college wedding weekends or similar. But then it was [really] just nostalgia for the [relative] carefree days of college and an overall universal lack of responsibility. Plus a hangover.
The first time I recognized the true symptoms of early onset PVD was two years ago after a glorious week spent with friends on Cape Cod. The symptoms were so severe that time that, in a fit of soul-crushing despair, I joined Facebook. It’s not so bad this time, really. I’m experiencing more of a unpleasant numbness, like you might imagine you’d feel half a minute or so after getting socked in the face with a frying pan. That’s sort of what it was like to leave the warmth and hospitality of Manuel Antonio (I miss you Jorge!*) and deplane in post-Snowpocalypse Washington, DC three weeks ago. But ohmygoditwasworthit.
And I promise: more pics soon!
*Jorge worked at our hotel and was the cutest, sweetest fella ever. The last two nights we were there Jorge had to pinch hit as the bartender, and he made a mean Margarita. His key ingredient was Grand Marnier. Try it.*