Notice To Vacate

I spent last week in a one-bedroom cabin overlooking Lake Waconda, a man-made reservoir just west of Glen Elder, Kansas. Lake Waconda is a popular destination for hunters, fishers, and other outdoorsy types, frequently busy with flat-bottomed boats and family RVs. I did none of these things; I simply took six days and five nights to stand with my feet in the water and listen to the rhythms of nature around me.

Americans, as a society, have accepted the idea that human worth derives from our ability to produce economic value. From chattel slavery to industrial peonage to yuppie consumerism, our economic structures have always taught us that life has meaning strictly according to the ability to generate wealth. Money, the way American society is organized, isn’t only a tool to fill needs and measure desires; it’s the yardstick of life.

Perhaps that’s why, unique among wealthy nations, Americans don’t enjoy a guaranteed annual vacation. The economic liberty necessary to occasionally “vacate” your social station belongs exclusively to those who can afford it. Paid time off becomes a form of bribery: my annual PTO ration doubled when I moved into an office position, because my writing skills are valuable, and the company bribed me to not withhold them.

That’s no kind of life. Human worth far exceeds our ability to make things for employers who would replace us in moments. We know this, too: vacation is a form of economic rebellion, a scheduled inversion of the demand for constant dollar-value productivity. The activities we undertake on vacation—hunting, traveling, or in my case, standing with my feet in the waves—are measured on days, not dollars.

And on vacation, days have meaning. At work, days are often demarcations of disappointment: the proverbial hatred for Mondays, thanking God for Fridays. On vacation, I spent days walking prairie hills, reading books for reading’s sake, and spending time with friends, while making and sharing good food. I seldom checked my watch, because my only deadline was sundown. These experiences, not their dollar value, make life worthwhile.

Standing with my feet in the
waters of Lake Waconda

Much modern life exists in constant tension: we yearn to rebel against a system we know is innately dehumanizing. But we also yearn for shelter and groceries, which means making an arrangement with the existing system. The monetary system we rebel against also subsidizes our rebellion. No wonder some working-class people start thinking it’s somehow virtuous to work weekends and never take days off.

Temporarily vacating from this system is countercultural, and countereconomic. By spending time in activities that cannot be monetized, by eating when I’m hungry and sleeping when I’m tired, I show respect to my body and soul, something a dollar cannot do. Leaving the economic grind, even for one week, means listening to myself, respecting my internal clock, and giving preference to the one thing I definitely own: myself.

What might a society look like, organized around empowered persons listening to themselves? If people could make economic decisions not from fear of starvation, but from owning a shared goal? Historically, economies have revolved around goals handed to the masses by people in dominion, whether corporate bureaucrats or state apparatchiks. But imagine a society where people could know their own rhythms, and set their own goals.

Please don’t misunderstand me. Employment is necessarily unequal, but I don’t oppose work. Even under utopian conditions, remunerative work remains necessary. It also remains desirable: after a week spent performing no writing (including this blog), I was eager to resume work. The difference is that, having spent time listening to my internal rhythms, I have a better understanding of what makes work meaningful, and what conditions I’m willing to accept for employment.

Vacating my economic station gives me the opportunity to evaluate my goals, and decide what steps I’m willing to take to pursue them. It lets me price my skills, tools, and time, rather than accepting the price provided to me by the bureaucracy. Most important, it lets me decide whether employment—that is, the conditions under which the economy makes work remunerative work available—satisfies my internal need for work.

No wonder Americans aren’t accorded vacation time. Despite our rhetoric of liberty, our economic structure, founded on systems of slavery, peonage, and debt, is fundamentally un-free. Time spent listening to ourselves, time spent nourishing our souls, threatens that structure. I found fresh air, clean water, and tall grass on the shores of Lake Waconda. I also found the economic conditions that could, with time, make me free.