Routineous Interuptus

“Routineous Interuptus”, a.k.a., VACATION! :-). I had one recently. Twelve days in which I lived a five to six-hour difference in time from my mainstay; food that while may have matched my usual fare in appearance, dang sure didn’t match in terms of ingredients, how it was prepared, the quantities in which I normally consume it, nor the location. Toss in the ridiculously early wake up calls in some places, the upwards of five hours of walking around, or six hours (with stops every two) spent riding on a tour bus, and the general WOW of seeing certain larger than life, “places I’ve only dreamed of” right up close and personal, and well, the whole Body Love routine I’d been on since May got a little lost in translation.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t abandon it altogether. I still made sure to walk, stretch, and eat vegetables – even when I wasn’t sure what they were. I kept to a budget as well. But I didn’t track not one single bite of food, or dollar (Euro, Pound, or Swiss Franc for that matter) spent in either of the aps I use for such things. If it weren’t for the FitBit, I wouldn’t have known how many steps I took dodging bikes in Amsterdam or traffic in Paris, or wandering the streets Innsbruck.

I’ve been back now for a week and I have no idea how much money is in my bank account, which bills have been paid, or how many calories I’ve consumed since my return. I damn sure haven’t put the yoga mat or the free weights to use. The afterglow of the vacation wore off early this morning and now I’m in somewhat of a panic. I don’t want to go back to the way I was before May. Over spending, over eating, and splayed lazily on my couch worrying about it all. But it’s been difficult just picking up where I left off. I think some part of me hasn’t yet come back from vacation. Some small part of my soul is still gazing at the bright white of the stone that make up the buildings in the Piazza Dei Miracoli, or perhaps it’s sitting in silent worship in the pews of Notre Dame. Could be it’s still floating serenely down the Rhine River, having succumb to the song of the Lorelei as the river boat made the curve. Hmmm, I may have left it in the midst of Oktoberfest in Munich – one could lose much in that crowd.