Reservations Over Scheduling a Guilt Trip Back Home

Anxiety generated by the news has started me thinking about 1995 vacation plans. All right, that wasn’t the reason; it was the phone message that said, “Get outta town, ya bum! Yer column stinks!”

Filing that under “Food for Thought,” I started casting about for quiet, restful vacation venues. I imagined biking in Banff or lolling in Cancun. Perhaps a walk through a Gaelic forest or a boat ride down the Amazon.

I settled on a visit to see friends and relatives.

What’s the matter with me? Why, when I close my eyes and spin the globe to find a vacation spot, does my finger always land on “Family and Friends”?

The answer probably involves a syndrome with a German doctor’s name attached to it and which is covered extensively in textbooks on human psychology.

Don’t misunderstand. I lo-o-o-ve my friends and family. I can’t wait to see them. They can’t wait to see me. We repeat that endlessly in the weeks before my trips home.

I called a married couple last week to let them know I’d be coming in a few weeks. I’ve known the guy for 20 years and his wife for the last dozen or so. She answered the phone.

“Hey, I’m coming to town in a few weeks.”

Pause on her end to bait the hook. “Will we see you this time?”

She tosses the line effortlessly, and I bite. I say, “You saw me last time. You’ve seen me every time I’ve come to town for the last nine years. Why would you ask that?”

“Don’t get defensive,” she says, beginning to reel me in. “I was just wondering if you could fit us into your schedule. You’re always so busy with your family.”

I consider apologizing profusely for having a family.

“I’m not defensive,” I say. “I would humbly suggest that this is my vacation and I’d like to have a little control over how I spend it. I’ve only got so many days in town and I can’t see everyone at the same time. When you take your vacation, you can spend it the way you want.”

“OK, Your Highness,” she says. “Should I call a few people and tell them you’re coming or would that undermine your control?”

Oh, she’s good. Very good. “Great,” I say. “The more the merrier.”

Then I call my brother. “Hey, looks like I’ll be coming home in a few weeks.”

Pause on his end. “Any chance you’ll stop by and see us?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You know how it is, you’re always so busy with your friends when you come back.”

People spend years in therapy learning how to respond to family remarks like that, but I fend for myself. “Of course, I’m coming over. What do you think I come back for? I probably won’t even tell my friends I’m in town.”

“You don’t have to get upset,” he says.

“Who’s upset?” I say, the color rising in my neck.

At the end of the two conversations, I realize it’s happening again. I’m losing control of my own vacation.

You’d think a smart guy like me could figure this out. It’s not like I don’t go through it every year. And yet, it seems to be a problem without a solution. That knowledge comforts me.

“Well, just don’t come home on your vacation,” Mom says, trying to be helpful. (Is it my imagination or does she ever-so-slightly emphasize the word “home” when she says that?)

“No, that’s the point, Mom. I want to come back, I just don’t want to feel scheduled every quadrant of every day. And I don’t want to feel guilty.”

What a dreamer I am. Is there any point to this life if it isn’t to feel guilty about something? Why should something as trifling as a vacation disrupt a healthy guilt complex?

This year, I’m going to try a new tack. I’m going to embrace the conflicts as inevitable and quit looking on guilt as a bad thing. Indeed, I’m setting my sights on a guilt-ridden vacation.

This year, when someone says, “Gee, I guess you have other friends more important than us,” I’m going to reply, “No, you’re wrong. You’re my best friends, and I should be consigned to hell for treating you so poorly on my vacation. How could I be so damn thoughtless?”

You know what, I feel more relaxed already.