It is both the blessing and curse of the introvert to mask her feelings to others.  My whole world may have imploded, but my demeanor would never betray this. I'm so good it's scary sometimes. I wish I could be better at emoting, but the retreat of my inner world is far more alluring. It's safe and protected. My pride remains intact. My vulnerability is hidden. I can't be judged or rejected.

In this effort to so carefully craft my disclosure, there results a weariness I did not intend. If we are to share in each other's burdens (Galatians 6:2), it's best to make known that there are burdens I carry (tightly, and close to my heart). It's an exercise of faith that works against every fiber of my being. But it points to the One who ultimately bears our burden, and I can't hold back the emotion which comes from that.

I wish I could seal vacation in a bottle and take it home with me. The most depressing part of my vacation is that once it begins, I start counting how many days I have left before I have to resume reality. It's no way to relax, I know. But it's my desperate attempt to savor it, and soak up all the goodness it has to offer. That being said, I'm pretty bad at relaxing if I'm already envisioning my return. I realize that if I live believing that I'm never going to have something again, it's a pretty poor existence, much less means to relax. Perhaps the greater issue here is that vacation reveals a more cynical me that can't muster the faith to lift the cloud of responsibility that seemingly hangs over my head each day. Instead of living in the frailty of my own strength I ought to take heart in Him whose burden is light. This, I'm convinced, is a far better way to relax.