Chronic over-thinker? You need a 'boring' vacation.
Removing the choice, pressure, and performance of the 'perfect' getaway.
Last weekend found my husband and I in Valley Head, West Virginia, to celebrate our third wedding anniversary. Our purpose? To hike at the nearby Kumbrabow State Forest where salamanders abound in the forest’s humid continental climate (my husband loves salamanders, I love my husband—you get the gist).
Going into the trip, we knew there wasn’t much to do in Valley Head itself—the community, home to 200 people, is tucked in the middle of the state near the Snowshoe Mountain ski resort with miles to go before reaching a gas station or cell service. While we were visiting, Valley Head was holding its Memorial celebrations, and as we drove through town on Saturday afternoon, the only evidence of any event occurring was a singular parade float we passed on the way to our hike. We were in a verifiable non-tourist area with not much in the way of sightseeing, food, or stimulation. The lodge and restaurant where we stayed hosted a total of three other guests that weekend, and the one time we ate dinner offsite, we ended back at the lodge for a second dinner due to still being hungry. And guess what? We had a great time.
The older I get, the more I desire vacations like this. I am an introvert prone to overthinking, and I struggle to relax and turn off my brain, so going somewhere with few choices and people is exactly what I need! For me, the tenets of a good vacation include great scenery, delicious food, physical activity, and time with my husband. I do not need to be in a city or a hot spot, and I prefer not to be since it usually increases my anxiety and irritation. I am learning that I enjoy vacations that are a retreat from the hustle and bustle, a step back from our society that glorifies having exhaustive options at your fingertips. It is in the removal of choice that I finally find relaxation.
(Here I will quickly note that I do not want to romanticize rural life over city life or vice versa. I grew up in a town of 6,500 people and often prickled at out-of-town family who would visit and say how great it was to get away from city life. Meanwhile, I often felt like there wasn’t much to do in my hometown that I hadn’t done dozens of times before. This felt even more stark in Valley Head where the closest conveniences were a BP gas station and a Dollar General. It took us a 40-minute drive to see a grocery store, and it was a Walmart. The removal of choice can feel glorious for a weekend but stifling when it’s your daily life.)
So while recognizing the duality at hand, I did enjoy the slower pace of our trip and the wild beauty of Appalachia. Upon starting our five-mile hike at Kumbrabow, there wasn’t a soul in sight, and we didn’t meet anyone else on the trail. I have a love/hate relationship with hiking. I love the scenery, the quiet, and being with my husband. I hate how long it takes me to enjoy the simple act of walking, how my mind strays from past to future, not wanting to give into the present. During our hike, I spent the first two miles worrying about the impact of the two dinners I’d eaten the night previously, wondering what I’d eat for dinner that evening, and fretting over how difficult the hike might be given recent heavy rains. It wasn’t until we made it to the peak with an awesome view and started finding salamanders and red newts on the descent that I gave into the present moment and intently scanned the forest floor for critters. It’s typical for my brain to battle against rest; only in a sustained period of presence like our four-hour hike can I finally give in. It also helped in this instance to know we had nowhere else to be—we traveled to Valley Head for the hike alone—and there weren’t numerous dinner or entertainment options awaiting us afterward. I could give into the simplicity of nature and its wonders.
Other small pleasures I enjoyed:
Fog rolling off the mountains as we drove the windy roads toward our lodge accommodations the first night.
Unfettered greenery and lushness. So much green that I began to note the various undertones of yellow, blue, and white.
The quiet, no fuss breakfasts and dinners at the lodge—biscuits, fried chicken sandwiches, and Parmesan and aioli fries.
Intentional time with my husband over drinks and meals. The shared refreshment of a new experience.
Being the obvious outsiders (dinner at the lodge the first night included our table and a bar full of locals who’d arrived in an ATV), but also getting included in the small town gossip regarding a rowdy group of guests who were originally from the area. Drama is best enjoyed from a distance.
Gossip and antics aside, I will be seeking quiet vacations like this in the future. Part of our Ontario trip later this summer will include several days in a lakeside town where we hope to be on the water and among the trees.
To retreat, to heal my fractured mind with singular activities, to be with a loved one away from screens and work, to not feel pressure to achieve, produce, or be more than just myself. These are life’s treasures worth savoring.
Author’s Note: Thank you to my talented husband for all of the photos included in this article!
What I’m Reading
Sociopath: A Memoir by Patric Gagne
Gagne, a former therapist, recounts growing up with the firm knowledge that she was different, and not in a socially acceptable way. Dealing with sociopathy, psychopathy, and anti-social personality disorders, she sheds light on what it means to only feel something when what you’re doing is wrong. Gagne’s concept of sociopathy as a “feeling” disability is intriguing, and listening to her read her own audio book is a treat.
Another beautiful piece where I felt like I was quietly along for the ride. ❤️