This summer break has been pretty much everything I needed it to be.

It didn’t exactly start that way. The week before the Rockford 70.3 was stressful. I was nervous about the race, questioning my training, questioning why I do these things to myself, and generally doing all the things you’re probably not supposed to do during a taper.

Then I raced.

I had decided to treat the race as my Misogi – a challenge hard enough that I wasn’t entirely sure I could pull it off. And I did. I didn’t just finish it. I did what I wanted to do there. I challenged myself, nailed it, and walked away feeling like I’d proved whatever it was I needed to prove to myself.

And then summer really started.

Two weeks later, we went to Michigan with the family and my in-laws. There was nothing particularly exotic about it, which was exactly the point. Pool. Reading. Kayaking. Family games. Dinners together. Sitting around. Talking. Laughing.

It was wonderful.

Then I had a few weeks at home before heading west to Utah.

Usually, I’m a Point A to Point B driver. The purpose of a road trip is to get to the place where the road trip ends. This time my wife came with me, and we slowed down a little. We stopped along the way. We took our time—well, *my* version of taking our time—and actually enjoyed the trip instead of treating I-80 like a problem to be solved.

Then we had a fantastic week together in Utah.

After she flew home, my college roommate and best friend came out for another week. Between the two weeks there was kayaking, tubing, hiking, dinners, movies, a comedy club, donuts and assorted other activities that mostly revolved around the question, “What should we do today?”

For that first week, I was probably 100 percent present.

The second week? Maybe 75 percent.

Part of me was tethered to home through my wife, and part of me was tethered to the increasingly bizarre job situation waiting for me in Chicago. That’s okay. Seventy-five percent present is still pretty good. I’ve spent plenty of weeks in my life at about 12 percent.

And now everyone is gone.

I’m still in Utah. I still have the mountains. I still have the pool and the kayak and the bike and the hiking trails. I could stay longer.

But I’m ready to go home.

I’ll start driving tomorrow morning. I haven’t decided whether I’ll make it a two-day or three-day trip. I could take my time, stop somewhere interesting, enjoy the journey.

That sounds lovely.

It also sounds absolutely nothing like me.

I’ll probably get in the car, point it east and immediately begin calculating whether I can shave eleven minutes off Google Maps’ estimate.

But I’m ready.

I LOVE being out here. Utah restores something in me. The mountains, sunshine, open space and slower pace do me a tremendous amount of good.

But I’ve also realized something over these last few days.

The pool is better with my wife sitting next to me.

Kayaking is better when someone else is paddling nearby.

Hikes are better when there’s someone to talk to.

Dinner is definitely better when I’m not sitting at a table by myself scrolling through my phone.

All of these things I love – mountains, bikes, kayaks, hikes, restaurants, movies—are really just settings. The people are what make them experiences.

So the summer did exactly what I needed it to do.

I challenged myself. I rested. I read. I exercised. I spent time outside. I spent time with family. I spent time with an old friend. I laughed a lot. I ate some very good food and probably too many donuts. I spent long stretches without worrying about what I was supposed to be doing next.

I feel restored.

And maybe that’s how you know a vacation has done its job.

You don’t desperately want to stay.

You’re ready to go home.

So tomorrow I’ll point the car east toward Chicago, toward my wife, toward whatever strange adventure the job situation has waiting for me.

There will be considerably fewer mountains.

But the company will be better.