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SUNDAY SPECTATOR
June 11, 2006
Why I like holidays
So what do I have to say for myself after five weeks on holiday? That holidays are good. That if it weren’t for holidays, we would all go mad.Of course, some of us do go mad, in the sense of losing their judgement and making idiotic and disastrous mistakes. But mostly this is just a small minority in our society -- consisting of captains of finance and industry, very senior bureaucrats, and the most powerful politicians. These are people who can never get away from their jobs. The slightest retreat or inattention, and their rivals will harvest their heads. They work 24/365 (and 366 in leap years), reviewing strategy even in their sleep. When they go to the cottage, it is with a mobile office and a dozen aides hoping to get their attention at last. If they go fishing, it is a photo-op. They are only pretending to be on vacation, to lure their enemies into exposing themselves. In a truly sane political order, such as the Swiss used to have, prime ministers and presidents would alternate every few months, or after a year at the longest. They would leave office, and return, and no one would take them very seriously. And the well-run corporation would appoint CEOs only from among those on the cusp of retirement; occasionally bringing one out of retirement if there was a real problem. Fortunately, I am a person of no importance. I have no skills, or would not have become a journalist in the first place. No national or corporate decision-makers wait upon my word. And if they did, they’d be quickly out of office. Therefore I enjoy the luxury of an annual leave. And the week before last, I made it all the way to Penetanguishene and back, without once being illuminated by klieg lamps. Notwithstanding my insignificance, I am like so many caught up in the politics of the world -- the war, carnage, and diplomacy -- owing to my habit of indulging my anxieties. I actually worry, less about who is going to win the next election, than what will be the fate of “Western Civ”. It is foolish to worry: God has everything in hand. The brief moments in which we feel a small role to play, at the divine command, are well diffused in time. In the other moments we are at a loss. Or, working, eating, sleeping, and the other functions, including pretending to be entertained. Women seem more resilient than men in this; most seem drawn instinctively to constant, low-effort work, and are sceptical about ever being amused. Men come at you in waves, and laugh casually. But such demonstrable stereotypes aside, there are few moments for either sex in which it would not be hard to give an account to our Maker, of the point in what we are doing. Exhausting ourselves, most likely. Which is the greater reason for a break in routine, even if what we do on vacation is no less strenuous than what we do for work. I was trying, but will fail, to avoid the word “perspective”. One may see things only from a distance off. The only chance of steering is from the height of the bridge. Of course I don’t mean spatial distance, but aloofness of soul. The first thing I do, as a holiday begins, is nothing. To the habitual hack’s temptation to check the news, I respond by making a cup of tea instead, and opening a novel. There are some things that can only be thought about by not thinking of them. I admit this sounds a bit Eastern. But thinking back over the last year of my writing, in this journal and others -- through the device of having not thought about it for five weeks -- I recall frequent lapses of charity, all of them occasioned by anxiety and distress. It is true the world is going to hell in a handcart. But I needn’t be in the handcart. “Don’t escort the big chariot,” sage Confucius said, or rather quoted, in his Book of Songs. “You won’t be able to see for dust. / Don’t think about the sorrows of the world; You will only load yourself with care.” One may do worse than re-read the great Chinese philosopher. Little of what is attributed to him seems merely Oriental. Much repays extended idle thought. And even from the greater weight of Christian apostles, fathers, doctors, and saints, he provides a holiday respite. David Warren
© Ottawa Citizen
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