Chest pain.  All new.  Not good.  So on Wednesday, when it hadn’t stopped for three days and the pain scale hit 6 on the 10 scale, I called McHealth.  They insisted I go straight to my doctor—and she quickly ruled out everything but the ticker.

• That’ll make your heart pound!

Board an ambulance, they said, or arrange a driver—and head straight to the regional trauma center with top-ranked heart care.  Now.  Upon arrival at the ER, I was greeted by a gatekeeper in police uniform, who let me into the triage zone where a nurse with sniffles loaded me into a wheelchair, asked me a litany of questions, and talked on a voice-activated intercom to tell them to ready the EKG room.  Within minutes, they rolled me in, stripped me down, pasted on the stickers, and hooked me up.

As I lay there trying to relax and slow my pounding heart, my mind drifted…out of the room and to a warm beach…with my perfect children…

We were on a BreakAway.  On an unspoiled island.  We were oceans away from the frenzied pace of the sickbay and the day-to-day routine.

• Dancing with deathbed memories

What does your mind go during your final hours?  Who knows?  But in years past, I had given it some thought. I’ve even described a sabbatical as a way to gather “deathbed memories.”  Imagine your mind seeing a short movie of your life (like in “American Beauty”)—with images of sandcastles and fjords, not just hospitals and cubicles.

Back in the ER, I was wheeled through an endless warren of halls to my own little nook with a curtained door.  Soon an army of medical scrubs entered my “cabana” and drilled me like interogation agents.  They knew not that their beeping and jabbing competed with the crashing waves that were washing over my invisible offspring and me.

I’m fine!  It’s not my time!”

I wanted to yell at them. But the medicine people treated me as though they may know differently.  Even the notion of living with a heart condition made me sick to my stomach.  And truth is, people I personally know around my age are dying at the rate of about one a month.

• Escapism:  There when you need it

So while the resident palpated, the nurse poked and the glass vials filled with purple blood, I escaped to my mind. There, I replayed the days my son and I would sneak away on kayaks—and hoped that I’d been a fine father.  I re-celebrated our many traveling Christmases not at home—when my daughter would get a simple felt-art board and I’d get nothing—yet could ask for nothing more.

All I want now is to go home”

my brain pleaded. “Sir?  Sir? Let’s wheel you off to the x-ray room and take some pictures,” warned an orderly.  In my mind, I pictured wheeling around a West Indian island on little “dollar buses” named FAITH and BLESSED—indeed feeling blessed because my kids sat beside me and loved the booming reggae as much as their dad.

• What matters most?

What matters, anyway?  Besides living, that is?  The answer changes often.  But during the parenting years, it becomes evermore less about you, and evermore about them.  About showing them, as countless West Indians did, that one doesn’t need lots of stuff to be content.

It’s about ensuring they are aware of the history they are experiencing—like the day Obama was inaugurated and, on the remote island of Bequia (where we were), natives and tourists alike wept and danced in the streets knowing that we are all of the same skin.

It’s about daring to pull them out of their surroundings, sports, and schools to show them that the world is a very, very vast place—full of variety, wonder, and moments of bliss that are worth chasing after.

• “You can go home now…”

At the end of a BreakAway, the return flight can bring on a case of the “go-homes” that feels rather like flu, only worse.  At the end of an ER visit, there’s no place…you’d rather go.

On Wednesday, I was lucky.  I was caught and released.  I returned home (where the heart is) 5.5 hours after I left it.  The young ones knew little about my episode.  We ordered in mediocre Chinese takeout that never tasted better, and played basketball in the living room with nary a care about the fallen vase.  The boy simply asked,

Are you alright?  Well, good! So what about my…”

As it should be.  This is their time.  I had 37 years before they arrived.  And God willing, I’ll have a bunch more after they grow away and set themselves free.

Meantime, we’ll try to again free ourselves, now and then, from the mountains of responsibility that surround us.  In fact, a plan that will take us to Europe for much of the summer is in the works.  A heart scare like yesterday’s suggests:  Let’s not wait.

This Career Break advocate believes that every break needs a mission.  And one dreamy mission I’ve held for years is taking my children to Scandinavia—to show them where their kinfolk came from, not long ago.  To show them we are more than Americans.  They’ll learn so much.

Or rather:  I’ll learn so much—because they have so much to teach me.  We’ll have buckets of fun.  We’ll see the big old world.  And we’ll experience, one more time, the thrill of simply being together, and being alive.

Maybe a year runs too long.  In today’s nano-second culture, who has the attention span to make changes for 365 days?  We’re too busy making changes every nine seconds, if only in our screen lives.  Anyway, lifting weights invariably evolves into lifting beer bottles—as proven in this amusing video from veteran BreakAway artist Dan Woychick.

So this year, let’s keep the resolutions short, simple, and of-the-moment…

11 New Day’s Resolutions for 2012

1. Today, I’ll focus on today—and just hope the rest of my life don’t zip past too fast.
2. Today, I’ll believe a long and life-changing BreakAway will happen someday—but be grateful for a little vacation anytime.
3. Today, I’ll get my finances in order—even if that means merely cleaning the coins out of the junk drawer.
4. Today, I’ll eat well—which may include a 16-oz T-bone with Bernaise and Bordeaux.
5. Today, I’ll get outside—if only to throw rocks at crows when they attack the wren houses.
6. Today, I’ll get some exercise—possibly preferring beer bottles to dumb-bells.
7. Today, I’ll seek some silence—even when noise and chatter seem inescapable.
8. Today, I’ll try to help make a difference—even when I’d rather not.
9. Today, I’ll keep the faith in one Career Break Movement—even if “movements” seem as common as blogtwit-gurus these days.
10. Today, I’ll let Doomsdayers and New Agers pontificate about 2012 being the End or the Beginning—and respond as best I might to the whatever epic events may occur.
11. Today, I’ll unplug from the internet—and watch TV’s endless parade of parades, games, and fireworks (when not partying with family and friends).

Just for today, and maybe tomorrow…HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I love the long days…”

So goes a phrase exchanged by a faraway friend and me every 12-21 and 6-21, to mark the winter and summer solstice.

When we shared a shabby duplex some 20 years back, we’d spontaneously meet outside bi-annually for sundown brewskis for that toast.  Aspen’s his home now, so FaceBook serves as our virtual porch.  Guess it’ll do.

As the sun rises today, we solar-powered humanoids grasp for light and warmth.  Bright rays pierce bare trees, then become a blinding beam on the frozen lake.  Stunning, yes, but it won’t last.  Low clouds lurk and will soon swallow the dim orb.  So streetlights will do double duty today, and for many more.

Lucky for us, we’ve seen this cycle.  It’s always the same—with years that whirl past so fast you’re tempted to skip the toast.  But don’t.

Personal rituals keep us both spinning and connected, whether jamming into churches packed with part-timers on Christmas Eve, bowling on Tuesdays, or howling a snarky toast into silent skies on the shortest day.

These rituals can fade, along with memory and humor.  But maybe they’ll only matter more as the years go by.  Why not pack in as many as possible?

When my interest wanes, I try again.  I seek significance—though comedy will do—when sneaking a spell to meditate, meeting friends in the bar after the softball game, or dreaming and scheming about the next 90-day BreakAway.

That Sabbatical may or may not come to pass.  But the Summer Solstice will be here soon enough—guaranteed, so long as we live to notice and remember to celebrate.

There’s a lesson here about faith.  And light.  And tradition.  When I figure it out, I’ll shout it out into the cold, dark air.  Whether anyone is listening, or not.

Do you have a list, written or not, of things you want to do before you…expire?  If so, that’s your bucket list, a term that everybody seems to detest, but gets more usage all the time anyway.  I’m here today to state that YES!  Why not?  Keep a dang bucket list, if only in your cranium.  There’s power in that thing.

And it seems like recently, the bucket list phenomenon has dumped on me many ways; here are a few…

• The rock show.

I’ve found myself at two concerts this summer because, in part, friends had decided that seeing U2 and The Jayhawks were on their bucket list.  So what if I’m not a big fan of either?  A great time was had by all and my buddies accomplished a life goal.

• “The bucket list lie.”

Soul brother blogger Jonathan Fields disses the list and insists that a “list of one” (just for today) is a better way to go.  He gets swamped with hundreds of weighty responses.

• “Bucket List,” the movie.

While on my last career break (spending 69 days in the West Indies with my family) we watched this fine movie.  Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman offer moving performances as terminally ill elders, and it served to remind me that I was lucky to be drinking from that blessed bucket at that very moment.

• All to say…

I hope your bucket list has not been thrown out with the trash.  After all, the only way you’ll GET what you want…is if you KNOW what you want.

That’s true whether it’s as simple as a $25 concert at 1^st Avenue, or as complicated as island-hopping for most of one winter in a place where the starfruit falls off the tree and the Calypso music echoes over the bay.

Speaking of career breaks, for sure the only folks who achieve one are the ones who keep the faith, no matter how irrational.  These things take time—sometimes decades—to actualize.  But belief beats the alternative:  Giving up.  While the story is still being written.

Even during dark days and droughts, the bucket can be half-full, right?

About a month ago, the New York Times offered a “Practical Traveler” article, “Planning the Perfect Vacation.” As a recovering perfectionist—and talented vacationer—I found the article to be both insightful and unfortunate.

• Are vacations a dying art?

So many people barely bother to vacation any more.  They’re too busy.  Can’t afford it.  Hate planning.  Or just let it slip away, like so many (dare I say) responsibilities.  Many who do manage to sneak away do so for just a few days; the trend remains for shorter breaks.  And “staycations” have gone mainstream.

That staycation may be a brilliant way to use the PTO days and unwind.  But really, who has mastered the challenge of staying home yet avoiding chores, routines, email/SM/TV/smart phone and all that?

Sometimes countless hours on a hammock with a view or a book might be what the Doctor of Well-Being would prescribe.

• Great ideas; too bad we need ‘em

Still, a high-profile story like this reminds us to step back and think about our little BreakAway.  Great tips like “Relish the anticipation” remind us that foreplay and faith offer part of the fun.  “Make your time count” means stop sight-seeing; start relaxing.

And of course, “Ditch the smartphone” asserts that less screen time is so much more calming—and that the term “weisure” has landed in our vocabulary to describe the regrettable trend of working while resting.  Yuck!

• Hardest working, least happy

Surveys, books, and one’s own travels continue to confirm that Americans are among the hardest-working people on earth, yet are also among the unhappiest.  That’s a complex disorder to fix, but there are ways each of us can fight that funk.

Like, take your vacation already, before another sweet summer fades away!

It’s my opinion that nobody ever regrets opening their minds to the gift of free time.

In the pursuit of repose and pleasure, one can find inspiration in the strangest of places.  For me, being in the middle of a body of water virtually guarantees some soothing soul space.  But be careful where you float:  There are some queer birds out there!

Like these two lovebirds—flying solo together.  Oh sure, their craft was mobile, even though the wings had been clipped.  But when I asked where they were headed, they simply smiled and said, “Nowhere.”

And that’s exactly where they went.  For at least a few hours, their odd craft just rode the breeze in the middle of the lake, as if to ask us gung-ho kayakers and frenetic skiers

What’s the big hurry?  Aren’t you just going in circles?”

The loons weren’t happy about the monstrous beast.  But then, they get all agitated about stand-up paddleboards too (this year’s new floating fad).  A few grizzled fishermen also rolled their eyeballs.

As for me, they made my day.  So I took a pic, got out of their way, and followed their example by slowing down and floating for a while.

Summer arrives in Minnesota like molasses in January.  So when it finally hits, we again learn the thrill of life in the slow lane.  Oh sure, schedules scream for attention even during the sultry months.  But this Summer Guy still reveres the 3-month break of his youth—and reckons the 5 5-word Mantras harken back too. 

• It’s not a financial decision.  In summer, the best things are free—like swimming, bandshell concerts, and Hammock time. 
• Everything is right on schedule.  Calendars and clocks will not dictate when the corn is ripe or the BBQ is ready, but you’ll know exactly when it’s time. 
• When all else fails, punt.  Your baseball team keeps losing?  It rained on your 4^th of July parade?  Boat motor won’t start?  Don’t sweat it!  Just grab a book or a beer, and kick it. 
• I’m determining my own destiny.  Careers and IRAs matter much, of course.  But just for today, try living just for today; don’t postpone fishing! 
• You can go home again.  Summer is a great time for a road trip to your childhood campground, your faraway friends, or Grandma’s farm.  They’re waiting for you. 

So get off your digitalia.  Get out in the light.  And get your summer groove on. 

After all, summer is and was the Original Sabbatical.  Lucky for us, it rolls into our lives every blessed year.

These could be shocking words.  But when my 8-year-old daughter squealed them recently, I chuckled.  She was playing with my hair—bored out of her skull while watching her 14-year-old brother play baseball.  Again.  She had just discovered silver in my hair.  I guess that’s what Grandpas got.

• A pirate looks at 50

At a certain age, watching your son pitch his way out of an extra-inning game provides the thrill that used to come from, say, sailing choppy seas in the Caribbean.  After all, he’s my baby:  My 6-foot tall, size-16 shoe baby.  This is his time to shine, and mine to bask.  Yet many folks are grandparenting vets by 50.

But God bless the grown-ups who live by the five-word mantra, “Everything is right on schedule.”  For some, that agenda includes time for travel—for exciting BreakAways that might more easily happen before diaper duty calls.

• Spoil Yourself

Some parenting gurus say you can’t spoil your children, at least when it comes to attention and affection (versus possessions).  If so, then successful parents best be prepared to give all—and give up much.  And that’s where life-planning comes in handy, inasmuch as life allows plans.

Want to spoil yourself?  See the world?  Make a proper nest and nest egg before the hatchlings pop out?  I did, I guess.  And it has made all the difference.  Because when the kids come, there’s no turning back.  You’re committed for life.

That’s not to say you’ll never wander again.  As one sage (and early) parent told me, “They go where I go.”  And mine have—around the world, through the West Indies, on countless old-fashioned vacations, and to the rowdy bar.

But as youngsters grow up, their hearts grow fonder of home—where the friends (and games) are.  Being absent grows harder, as if it were ever easy to begin with.  The obstacle course only gets more complex for the parental-unit career breaker.

• Timing, timing, timing

But as this site has persistently preached:  You can have it all—just not all at once.  So before they escape your embrace, hold on to your children (and your childishness).  Take them on tour, even when they resist.  Show them the world and know when to shut up—so they can experience it for themselves.

More important:  Don’t rush things.  That’s hard in the harried world they live in.  But it’s true:  Good things take their sweet time.  So does baseball—a game that, like life, includes no clock.

• Someday, someday

Me?  A grandpa?  No, no, no, dear daughter.  Someday maybe, but certainly not yet.  Your brother is pitching his way out of a jam; let’s also take one batter at a time.

So for now, let’s cheer him on to victory.  Feel free to yank out those (very few) gray hairs.  And then let’s go kick your pink soccer ball around.

Spiritual seekers keep an open mind—and enter open doors.  On Ash Wednesday, my car parked itself and my legs followed hundreds of others who were quietly striding over the ice to commemorate the first day of Lent in the astounding St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Ash Wednesday is no party.  Rather, most denomonations commemorate this sacred day with darkness, silence, and introspection.  The presiding priest reminded us that Easter season is a time for…

• Prayer…”I want, I will, with God’s help, to be holy.” (Mother Teresa)
• Fasting…Pass over the things that are not truly valuable; ask for needs, not wants.
• Alms-giving…”Lent is radically hopeful.”

With any luck, spiritual seekers also partied their brains out on Fat Tuesday, the rash bash that happens before Ash Wednesday.  But for now, the opportunity has arisen to consider living with less while striving for a higher consciousness for about 40 days and 40 nights.

Funny, but sometimes when you say no to unworthy distractions, you find ample time and energy for what matters most.

That can hold true for enlightenment, relationships, and coveted dreams—including BreakAways.

Folks have been making self-improvement promises since, well, Babylonia. The Romans did it too—while worshipping the two-faced god Janus (no relation to the mutual fund, but closely related to the month). Nowadays, resolutions make for great toasts, but usually turn to toast by Valentine’s Day.

So how about New Year’s Aspirations instead?  And why not things to strive for every day, rather than over 365?  Mine are simple—likely same as 2010.  Yet I’ll know a better year (and me!) is in store with even modest progress…

• One hour outside, whether kayaking, sitting, gardening, or shoveling shnow.
• Read from a well-written book, if only one page.
• Go adrift on the internet and Facebook—only when there’s nothing better to do.
• Stretch and do that sorta-yoga routine, especially first thing in the morning.
• That said, sleep long whenever possible and practice good Z hygiene.
• Get exercise—and try to make it fun (kayaking) and useful (yardword) instead of torturous (machines).
• Eat more, so long as it’s a whole foodstuff and not from a geometric container.
• Ditch stuff, as in, reduce the possession piles by, say, 15 – 25%.
• Make more mini-BreakAways, like the river retreat and Hmong Market stopover.
• Take more saunas, hot baths, midnight swims.
• Shut up and listen to music, friends, family, nature, and silence.

What are your aspirations for 2011?  I’m listening.