First, get a load of that image I just inserted above this sentence. Talk about pixilated. What is this, 1996?
Part of me wishes it were 1996. Simpler times. Super Mario 64 had just been released. My hair was black, flowing, and virile. Virile is the kind of word that nobody should ever use ever. But there I’ve just used it. I often break conventions.
Another part of me doesn’t wish it were 1996. I am happy to be here in 2026, thank you very much. There are many parts of me. Many parts of you, too. We are multiple.
It is here, beneath a pixilated image that reminds me of our multiplicities, that it occurs to me, as January becomes February, I am in desperate need of a vacation. Talk about a run-on sentence.
***
It has been 12 years since my wife Katie and I took a vacation without our sons. I’ve traveled many times over the last 12 years, but that travel has revolved around family and work. Conferences, campus visits, and research trips. I’ve been in lots of cities, but I’ve mostly gone there to work.
12 years ago Katie and I took a trip to Portland. We drove east and hiked through mountains. We drove west and watched waves crash over the beach. We stumbled around the city. I had coffee near Portland State University. That was a very nice vacation.
Later that summer, Katie and I spent a weekend on the North Shore. I got drunk and listened to live music in Grand Marais. We watched the waves crash over the beach from the deck of our secluded cabin. That was a very nice vacation.
And then Solomon and Samson were born. We’ve taken the boys many places. Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and South Dakota come to mind. Fine family vacations. And we’re traveled back and forth from State College to the Twin Cities more times that I can count.
Still, I want the kind of vacation where I don’t work, I don’t parent, and I don’t have the responsibilities that have characterized the previous 12 years. A waves-crashing-over-the-beach-vacation.
Any suggestions?
***
If I were a shrewd content creator, eager for engagement, I’d ask for suggestions on Facebook, Twitter, Tik-Tok, or whatever it is you hip youngsters use to lose your soul in algorithms these days. I am not a shrewd content creator. I am but a humble educator who has made a practice of throwing words at a page. This blog is one of the many pages I have befouled with letters.
Befouled is as atrocious of a word as virile. I never use it.
I’m aiming for a summer vacation with my wife Katie. Get on a plane, fly somewhere, and let the waves-crash-over-me. Can we afford such extravagance? No. Do I trust that there will still be open borders between states this summer? Yes, but the division in this nation is startling. Some might even call its virility befouling.
I’ve worked hard for a very long time. Fourteen-year-old me signed on as a dishwasher at a convent for retired nuns, and I’ve been trying to pay the bills ever since. And don’t get me started on the emotional labor my childhood required of me.
Yessiree and yesmaamee and yestheyee, I am ready for something of a break. I am ready for a vacation.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 