The Art of The Float

I accidentally happened upon The Float when I was a freshman at Ricks College. I didn't have a good year at Ricks. Nothing against it. A lot of people I know loved it. Me? I just never found my stride there. After one particularly bad week, I spontaneously packed a bag at 1:30 am and started the long 10 hour drive home.

It wasn't entirely smart, I'll admit, but I just felt drawn to spend a couple of days in the bosom of my family. The drive started out fine, but by 5:00 in the morning, I was beat. I pulled into a motel and thought I'd catch a little sleep before heading out again. Hours later I awoke a little more clear headed than when I had begun and realized my folly. Driving 20 hours to visit for one day? What had I been thinking?

I called my Dad, which was a good thing. Not knowing where I was, my roommates had phoned. I assured my parents I was fine, but Dad could tell I wasn't quite myself. Together we decided that driving the rest of the way would be a mistake, but Dad encouraged me to just stay where I was, rest and get my head together. He even let me put the room on his credit card. Boy,I miss those days.

For the next 48 hours I slept. And slept, and slept some more. During my brief alert spells I flipped through the TV channels and watched anything that caught my eye. I didn't even leave my little cocoon for food. I ran to the store once and bought my favorite treats to eat in bed. And then I slept some more. At the end of the two days, I was ready to face the world again. I was physically rested for one, but my mind was clearer, too. I returned to Ricks and dropped all my interior design classes and made the decision to transfer after the block. My dad may have initially regretted footing the bill after that, but in the end it was the best decision I ever made.

The next float day I remember was at the University of Wyoming. One Saturday I declared a "nothing day," meaning that we would do nothing important or taxing. My boyfriend at the time helped me pull my mattress out into the living room, we rented a stack of movies, made sure our favorite foods were available, and spent the day in our sweats watching TV.

Now my husband, Mr. Wicke, is horrible at doing nothing. I mean he is really bad at it. I'm working on converting him, but he is a tough nut to crack. However, he has come to understand my need for these little respites from real life. One spring after the already long haul that is the end of teaching Jr. High, I ran a week-long music camp because we needed the extra money. By the end of that week I was done, burned-out, and sick of people, kids particularly. I didn't want to hear anyone speak. If I got Mrs. Wicke-ed one more time, so help me...My fraying end may have been detectable because my sweet husband was suddenly dropping me off at a beautiful hotel, handing me a key, and saying "Have a great time." In a bag was bubble bath, a novel, peanut butter M&M's and diet Pepsi. I read, slept, took a long bath, watched a scary movie, and ordered room service. When I finally came home, I was pleasant again.

In our fourteen years together, he has done this a handful of times, just sent me out on my own to recover my sanity. The last time I am pretty certain he saved me from what was shaping up to be a nervous breakdown. We had moved, which meant that in addition to the normal upkeep of the household I was also trying to organize and conquer the disarray and upset that moving causes. Moreover his brothers lived with us for a couple of months each, back to back. Don't get me wrong, I love his brothers, but there were a couple of days at the end there where dog hair set me crying. I couldn't stop. I cried over laundry and dirty bathtubs, too. Maybe that was his cue, because it wasn't long before I was put in the car with the directions to a hotel.

Leaving isn't the only option either. The Float can be accomplished at home, though it is harder because regular life kind of gets in the way. Kids can be be problematic as well, but both can be overcome with just a little laziness. When it comes down to it, that is what The Float is: The stamp of approval for laziness for just a day or two.

Last year on the day after all of our company left following Christmas, the whole family floated. We all stayed in our pj's; we didn't worry about the house; we ate anything we wanted--kids included; we just put the rules away for the day and watched Star Wars. It was fantastic...until my aunt and uncle brought my cousin, whom I haven't seen in years, over for the visit they had scheduled weeks prior. In all the craziness I had just forgotten, and there I was in my pajamas, braless, ushering them into my messy living room, and introducing them to my children who had bedhead and Oreo rings around their mouths. Not my best and brightest moment.

You know, on second thought, the hotel is better.

Despite the last example, I am a huge fan of The Float be it at home or away. Swimming upstream can be exhausting, especially if you're like me and have no sense of balance. The Float is a way to recover my equilibrium after having depleted my reserves of spirit. The last time Mr. Wicke sent me off on my own he said, "Go do whatever you want for a while." As I started to drive down the freeway, I remember thinking, "Whatever I want? Wow...what would that even be?" I hadn't thought about what I wanted in such a long time. Then I just felt giddy; like a kid again with endless amounts of time to do nothing in particular at all. That, my friends, is the art of The Float.