All adults should go away to camp for a full month. The kids would be packed off to Grammy’s. Better yet, Grammy would come take care of the kids — there is enough planning and packing to do for oneself to go away. Not that much is actually needed: an overnight bag to carry a pair of jammies, a toothbrush, a wind breaker, and a hat. Leave all electronics home. Don’t leave a forwarding number. Cut all ties to the twenty-first century. Go away. Be away.
Be fed three meals a day by expert chefs. Have a generous staff look after all your household needs. The first thing to do is take a nap, slow down, be quiet. Smell damp rural air. Hear the trucks and cars on the highway and not think anything of it, as if it’s the sound of a river rather than evidence of commerce or transportation.
What if every person in the world could go away for a month? One morning a bus would arrive on downtown streets. Every beggar would be offered a ride. Off they would go, rag bags stowed in the overhead bins. First thing upon arrival, a bath would be drawn, a good soak and a scrub, followed by conversation over dinner with a composer, a painter and a poet. They’d say where they were from and what they’d been thinking. Everyone at the table would listen. Life would seem worth living.
