I’d basically decided two weeks ago that I would indeed go to England in late July to attend the Old Peculier Crime Writers Festival. I decided it was a no-brainer. “Life’s short!” I told myself as I contemplated the idea of a 2-3 week holiday to look forward to. I sent an email to the organisers to book an accommodation package for the festival.
And then I checked some Covid-related insurance information. Read some fine-print. It seems not everything is covered and I pondered the likelihood of something unforeseen happening before then, or while I’m away.
And naturally I started prevaricating. I’m not overly concerned about getting Covid myself (though I know that’s glib and it can indeed hit some very hard) but more worried about border rules changing or getting Covid when I’m due to come home and suddenly having to pay for a couple of extra weeks’ accommodation.
Of course though I love the idea of visiting England (for the first time ever) there’s a smidge of nervousness about my job security. Dropping $15k or so on 2-3 weeks away seems frivolous when I might need that to live on for several months. Or… I could get my rotting dodgy side porch fixed, replace some mouldy curtains and tidy up my gardens.
I thought I was pursuing my ‘heart’ when I decided I’d go to the festival. Not letting the rational thought or responsibility that rules my head penetrate my overanalysis for a change.
But then I overthought it more. Perhaps getting some new curtains (finally) and doing some stuff around my house would (in fact) bring me pleasure. Perhaps I could delay gratification and plan to go to the festival in 2023. Of course I may in the same precarious situation then – re finances and Covid – but perhaps not.
My mind changes daily. Well hourly. Mostly I worry about the regret I’ll feel if I don’t travel to England. But then I feel a little excited when I think about house-related treats. And… perhaps I could go on a couple of shorter (less-expensive) holidays in Australia. I like the idea of staying in a (nice) beach shack on top of a cliff overlooking tumultuous seas. Or a lake. I bookmark pics like that from Tasmania (or South Australia) all of the time on Instagram.
In some ways it’s back to the ‘things’ vs ‘experience’ values call or decision. But – those who see my social media feeds will know how much pleasure I get from my place. My space. My things.