We’re goin’ to Mexico.

2023 was a tough year. We had a lotta loss. And with a lotta loss comes a lotta emotion and responsibility and a big-huge gray sky of restlessness. Of feeling lost. And that gray sky is taking its sweet-ass time to clear. It culminated with the first blow. It was there even when it was sunny and 83 degrees outside. And it’s still there now. Though it’s definitely lightened – I don’t feel the sadness and the heaviness quite so much now. I have direction again. But I feel weary, and I want a break. A treat. A something to look forward to and work toward. A vacation.

In all honesty, I actually began dreaming about an extravagant getaway for me and my daughters last June when we were on a weekend trip in St. Louis with a girlfriend of mine and her wife. I was so enjoying the minibreak. So were Eleanore and Erna. During that weekend I realized that my girls and I have reached the point where we can comfortably begin traveling beyond road trips. The freedom feeling was explosive. I was so juiced at the idea. But it’s not like I immediately got the ball rolling on things. I had to put it on a to-do list and think about it for a while. Stress about it. Treat the decision like it’s some thoughtless asshole who’s carelessly requesting my time and oblivious to all the other tasks and responsibilities I’m juggling. I treated my own want and desire and dream like a fucking inconvenience. Like a chore.

So naturally, it was November or maybe even December by the time I finally firmly decided my daughters and I are going on a vacation – a real vacation, where we exit the Midwest on a plane and go somewhere hot and easy – with sand and an ocean and restaurants so I don’t have to cook. Someplace where we can just enjoy each other and the most I have to do is remind them to brush their teeth, and put us three to bed. I also wanted a place with a stellar kids’ club – for me. Because as much as I adore my little monsters, I need my me-time, and that would otherwise be impossible to get. The last thing I want to do is blow thousands of dollars on a “vacation” just to be stuck poolside the entire time, listening to my sweet Erna Girl chatter on and on and on and on about I don’t even know what because I tuned her out seven minutes ago. Like I said – I want a break.

An all-inclusive in Cancun, Rachel. Just do the fucking work to make it happen already. It’s not that hard.

So simple. Cancun is just the ticket for so many reasons, most importantly: It’s easy. A huge tourist trap that draws millions of Americans each year, so I don’t really have to worry about not speaking the language and trying to fumble through. It’s a four-hour flight – piece of cake. It’s outside of the United States, so it’s a driver for me to finally get my daughters their passports and to get mine updated. One of those things that’s been on the list, but not really necessary until I made it fucking necessary. But man, making it necessary was a process in and of itself.