When Is A Vacation Not Just A Vacation

Three days after returning from Acapulco, I was sitting quietly in our home, when something unexpected happened.

All at once, the full impact of our vacation time in Acapulco hit me.

For eleven years Nancy and I have spent part of the winter in Acapulco. During those years I’ve noticed many of the things that make the place special. But somehow, I had never gathered them together in one moment.

Until this morning.

Suddenly the picture became clear.

And I had to laugh a little.

I realized I was doing exactly what I write and coach about all the time.

I was becoming aware.

Not aware of one moment.
Aware of the whole experience.

Acapulco, for us, is the definition of family and connectedness.

The weather is almost always sunny and about 85 degrees.

The windows and sliding doors are open all day long. Ocean breeze flowing through the condo. No bugs. Just air and light.

You see your friends every day.

Conversations in the pool somehow stretch into hours without anyone noticing the time.

Dinner out with friends happens multiple nights a week.

Everyone knows your kids and your grandkids.

Some of the people around you have been part of your life for thirty or forty years.

The buses cost less than a dollar.
They blast music and honk their horns with cheerful aggression.
They’ll pick you up anywhere and drop you off anywhere.

It shouldn’t work.

But somehow it does.

Every evening the sunset arrives like a performance.

You pull out your phone and take another picture even though you already have fifty that look almost the same.

At the time you’re convinced this one could never be duplicated.

On the beach an older man plays the guitar.

He has a kind smile.
When you give him a few pesos he is genuinely grateful every single time.

The staff at the condo greet you with big smiles every year when you come back.

The waiters in the restaurants grin from ear to ear when they see you walk in.

The daily conversation with friends often begins the same way:

“Where did you eat last night?” Followed by “How was it?”

If the answer is good, the next response is automatic.

“I’ll have to try that place.”

It is a simple rhythm of life.

But the connection is palpable.

And sometimes there is sadness mixed in with all of that joy.

This winter one of our dear friends was not there.

He had passed away.

Which meant we felt something that many people never notice until it is too late.

The realization that certain places in life hold memories that can never be recreated once the people are gone.

And that may be the greatest gift Acapulco gave me this year.

Because sitting in that chair three days after returning home, something became clear.

I had been enjoying all of these moments individually for years.

But I had never paused long enough to gather them together.

When I finally did, the result was powerful.

Joy.

Connection.

Gratitude.

It made me wonder something.

What would happen if you gathered together all the wonderful things you love about a person or a place in your life?

Not just noticing them one at a time.

But seeing them all at once.

How would your heart feel?

Would your life change?

Would you feel joy tingling from your head to your toes?

Sometimes awareness doesn’t arrive when the moment happens.

Sometimes it arrives quietly… three days later.

And when it does, you realize something wonderful.

You weren’t just visiting a place.

You were living a moment of your life that mattered.