Our most enjoyable working vacation was a one-semester visiting position at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. Australia was as close as my wife and I have come to becoming permanent ex-pats–quitting our jobs, selling the house, kissing friends and neighbors good-bye, and pitching our family tent in a new country. It was that wonderful.
We found the quality of life in Sydney to be nigh-on perfect, which is saying a lot since we reside in Minneapolis, itself one of the most livable cities in North America. Australians know how to balance the stress of work and daily life with the pleasures of food, wine, relaxation, and time spent with friends and family. None of my colleagues gulped lunch at their desk, burned the midnight oil, stressed over research grants, or brought work home at night. When they left the office at the sensible hour of 5PM, they relaxed on their patio, opened a Fosters, enjoyed a leisurely dinner, and played with children or friends. Everything about this life style resonated with me, and it felt like the Aussies had discovered the secret of la bonne vie, the good life. However, when our visit ended my wife and I chose not to stay; not to pitch that tent. After four months in this heavenly city, our family boarded a plane for the long trek home. The obvious question is “Why?” If Australia held such fascination why did we choose to return?
A popular form of travel writing describes the roamings of stylishly elegant vagabonds who leave behind their home, family, and job for a new life overseas. The stories are a paean to their suddenly über-fashionable quality of life. For example, in A Year In Provence by Peter Mayle, a wealthy British businessman moves to the south of France to enjoy good food and wine, all the while restoring an elegant 19th century French country home. In Eat, Pray, Love an American divorcee seeks comfort and solace in Italy, India, and Bali. (Another possibility: Under the Tuscan Sun).
Stories of vagabond ex-pats make for superb reading and sell quite well–my readership would probably be far higher if I had stayed in Australia, bought a cattle ranch, and authored a book entitled A Year In The Outback. However, while enjoyable, these tales suffer from a serious problem–they are totally unrealistic. Like 99% of my readers, I have home, family, and job commitments that my wife and I either cannot or will not voluntarily abandon. In my case I love my teaching post and the security it affords. My children enjoy their classes, friends, and after-school activities, and our relatives live nearby, allowing us to participate in family life-cycle events. We have a great life in Minneapolis, and we chose not to give up these bird-in-the-hand pleasures for the two-in-the-bush possibilities of a new life in Australia.
No matter how much you may love your job after a few years everyone begins to get feelings of “being in a rut.” It is a natural human response to doing the same thing day after day. These feelings are what fuel the dreams of wanderers like Peter Mayle and motivate them to leave everything behind. But if most of us cannot, or will not, plunge into the ex-pat pool, what are we to do? How do we dig out from a trench of monotony and boredom? How do we scratch our “wanderers itch?”
The answers to these questions are the raison d’être for this blog. For some people a week at a ski lodge or beach resort is sufficient to refresh the soul and rekindle the fires in the belly. For the rest of us, though, it takes more– something along the lines of the temporary two- to four-month working vacations that my wife and I have done on 15 occasions–from Australia to Zimbabwe, Mauritius to Mongolia, Turkey to Tibet. Best of all, when we are finished with a posting, we return refreshed and reinvigorated to our home, friends, family, job and regular paycheck. No bridge burning required.
So, if you have a yearning for something a little bit different, please don’t think the only cure is to chuck it all and sail around the world, live in an Indonesian rainforest, or buy a vineyard in the south of France. You don’t need years to renew the soul; a few months living and working overseas–i.e., a working vacation–is every bit as good a medicine for what ails you. And if you read any of the other 128 posts on this blog you can learn exactly how to do it!
(Read more about our working vacation adventures in my book On The Other Guy’s Dime, and learn how to do it for yourself and your family.)