There is hope. We are not alone! Check this out. Check them out! 4 lovely ladies with impressive resumes have found time not only to coordinate outfits and enjoy some champoo, but also to take Big Breaks AND collaborate on a book.

How nice to see that we’re not alone here. And to see that this team effort offers many of the same suggestions you’ll find throughout this site, in my sample chapters, and perhaps wherever you seek inspiration to Run Away. Taking off into your own bliss and space isn’t rocket science, folks. It just calls for you to:

Face your fears:

“Employees actually fear taking sabbaticals more than companies fear offering them.”

How true; how poignant!

Keep a healthy distance from the rat race, even when you must re-enter it:

“Disconnect from the ‘rush, rush, rush, do, do’…for sustaining the post-sabbatical glow.”

Perhaps that’s good advice, if challenging, for most any dang day?

Be true to yourself and capture your inner memoirist by “keeping a daily journal.”

Dig a little deeper; step away and listen to the insights of silence by “scheduling solo, quiet time and a week of full media deprivation.” Media deprivation!?! Ahhhhhh…

Good luck, my friends. May we all find enough courage and make enough noise to change the world…one Sabbatical at a time.

There is hope. We are not alone! Check this out. Check them out! 4 lovely ladies with impressive resumes have found time not only to coordinate outfits and enjoy some champoo, but also to take Big Breaks AND collaborate on a book.

How nice to see that we’re not alone here. And to see that this team effort offers many of the same suggestions you’ll find throughout this site, in my sample chapters, and perhaps wherever you seek inspiration to Run Away. Taking off into your own bliss and space isn’t rocket science, folks. It just calls for you to:

Face your fears:

“Employees actually fear taking sabbaticals more than companies fear offering them.”

How true; how poignant!

Keep a healthy distance from the rat race, even when you must re-enter it:

“Disconnect from the ‘rush, rush, rush, do, do’…for sustaining the post-sabbatical glow.”

Perhaps that’s good advice, if challenging, for most any dang day?

Be true to yourself and capture your inner memoirist by “keeping a daily journal.”

Dig a little deeper; step away and listen to the insights of silence by “scheduling solo, quiet time and a week of full media deprivation.” Media deprivation!?! Ahhhhhh…

Good luck, my friends. May we all find enough courage and make enough noise to change the world…one Sabbatical at a time.

We’re in Countdown Mode now. Less than three months, and we’re not having fun yet.

What happened? Countless obstacles (a.k.a. Big Butts) appear in your path when planning a Big Break. Duh!?! I’ll not list them all for fear of boring you and frightening myself. But today’s, which emerged last evening over dinner in a dark, rude restaurant is this: Communication. If you’re not going alone, you’ll need to talk over stuff like…

• Like…What is Plan Z? Or, can we even get a ticket back home after the 17 days in St. John—if the Sabbatical isn’t happening? See, we still only have on-way tickets. The airlines aren’t helpful. And the Kommittee if not doing the work. Yuck.
• LIKE…Sabbatical aside, how are we, the Family, doing with back-to-school? Oh BTW, we have these two high-maintenance hobbies called children (AllBoy, 11, and CurlyGirl, 5). School has started, but we are all still living like summertime around here. The violin and math book remain untouched. The iTouch is endlessly touched. Even getting to bed is like all-star wrestling. Where’s Alice (from “The Brady Bunch”) when you need her?  Routine can be boring. But it can make matters simpler, and get things done.

But nah, what we’ve got here is not only house-wide failure to communicate, but downright chaos and disorder. Dirty dishes abound. Junk food is ubiquitous. The Kids are so NOT adjusting to the fall regimen, but instead complaining about it all, trying to skip sports, and treating me like the bad cop.

Do these citified brats even want a BreakAway? Would they even groove on daily beach lessons (home schooling) with teacher-Dad? Or would they rather just watch SpongeBob SquarePants reruns?

Please: Don’t answer that.

Meanwhile, my own dreams seem like a school of angelfish getting tangled in nasty nets. And as for my parenting prowess? Let’s just say I’m getting real confident about my kayaking. Solo.

On very little, fitful sleep, these are the questions I’m not loving long before daybreak. Will the sun even come up today? I’m filled with doubt; the pre-dawn sky looks filled with murky haze. An ill wind is hissing and snarling. (Or is that just my children?)

Chance of rain: 70%.

• TODAY’S EMOTIONAL WEATHER FORECAST: Dark & stormy.
• ODDS OF GOING: 33%.
• ODDS OF THIS WEBSITE GETTING LAUNCHED: 25%.
• ODDS OF ME (OR ANYONE) MAKING A ‘CAREER’ PREACHING THE GOSPEL OF SABBATICAL: 10%.
• ODDS I’LL ATTEMPT A NAP TODAY: 100%.

Is it just me, or is Rilke’s first name, Rainer, kind of a downer?

Lucky me. I’ve got a mini-BreakAway in progress, having ditched the relentless routine to sneak in some more summer at lovely Lake Okoboji in Iowa. (Yes, Iowa.) Remember Iowa? The state that first endorsed Barrack Obama and brought you Field of Dreams?

Moonlight Graham: “This is the most special place in all the world, Ray. Once a place touches you like this, the wind never blows so cold again. You feel for it, like it was your child.”

Shoeless Joe Jackson: “Is this heaven?

Ray Kinsella: “No, it’s Iowa.”

Ahh. In that dreamy script. Iowa is not just a state, but a state of mind. Guess what: So are Sabbaticals! They’re not just free time, but a place where “the wind never blows so cold.” Especially for those of us fixing to excape Minnesota in the winter.

So I sit on a deck overlooking a calm lake with a waning moon fading into it, the reasons for a Sabbatical seem clear as the brilliant sky. It’s the relaxation, stupid. A chance to dissipate some mental clouds, if only for a while, if only now and then.

A guy can achieve looser muscles and calmer mindwaves by escaping the daily grind, like I’ve just done by visiting this old, favorite vacation spot. Seems simple enough.

Here at glorious and blue Lake Okoboji, yesterday featured a sweet bike ride on new trails along lakes and through woods. Many a grassy knoll called my name and made me stop and chill a while.

A funky coffee shop (a shrine to Hendrix) provided live entertainment from a family of blonde ladies who served me quiche and salad. (Real men don’t eat salad, right?) Who gets even a slice of all that serendipity on a demanding day at the desk?

Meanwhile, a friend from Mankato escaped his day job and joined me by 2 yesterday. We were cruising on the pontoon by 3. We were out of beer by 5. We did a quick happy hour at the family shanty (named Itldo) before heading to a waterside restaurant for sundown with a steel-drum soundtrack and mahi mahi.

Hmmm, now where have I routinely devoured that before? Ah yes, the Virgin Islands.

An omen? Mahi mahi is by far the most common (and affordable) local fish around much of the Caribbean. (Some call it dolphin fish, which offends some diners so they won’t eat it, even though it has nothing to do with mammal dolphins.) I eat it often on St. John at Skinny Leg’s (one of Esquire’s Best Bars in America—and it even features “same day service!”). Their mahi burger is best with lots of the local hot pineapple sauce.

But back to the here and now: Today will feature golf, more boating, bar hopping, and another fine meal out. Not even sabbaticals promise days this easy and lovely. But they might, right? We’ll only know if we try. Absent my skeds and kids and egos and ids and doubts and pouts, I feel more like trying. Today, anyway.

• ODDS OF GOING: 75%. (What a jump from just three days ago. It can pay to BreakAway.)

Here’s a little article that nicely sums up why just everyone, not just Us, should be thinking about taking a BreakAway: They recharge batteries. As this story points out, that’s a great way to keep employees pleased and productive. But better yet, it’s a great way to keep employees from abandoning ship.

The good news mentioned here is that most companies are gradually growing up and offering folks more ways to get more done—flextime, offsite work, shared jobs, and all that. The bad news is that Sabbatical programs are still way behind that progressive curve. In my experience, many companies WANT to do it—and even kick it around—but then wimp out when it comes time to actually try business-as-unusual.

With the economy fears and money meltdown (Dow below 10,000 today, UGH), perhaps now is not the seize-the-moment alignment for Big Breaks to take off. But let us remember: Nothing lasts forever. If you (or your company) want to make Sabbaticals happen, the Dow will be somewhere else by the time you go somewhere else.

Take your time. And don’t be shy to talk to your boss (or spouse or shrink) about this wild idea you’ve been pondering…

Hello, World.

Please be kind. For some of us, this sort of exhibitionism is un-natural.

“This” is my blog—a word that always sounds to me like a three-dimensional burp. A noise your body makes when you’ve guzzled too much beer. (Don’t get any on ya…) And this is my first official blogpost. Sounds like funky body piercing.

The very thought of strangers reading my stuff makes me wince. Fortunately, I know better: 3 out of 4 blog readers are fellow bloggers, sniffing at each other (or so I’ve read). And most blogs get little attention in the crowded chaos and cacophony of the internet. So maybe there’s not much to worry about. And yet, maybe Link Love will save the world.

Still with me?

Hope so. We’ve got a lot of work to do.

LIKE…In 3 months, the next Sabbatical (a.k.a. BreakAway) begins. One-way air tickets will take us to St. John for about 17 days, and then…

LIKE…Where do we go from there? Could it be the Bahamas? Bermuda? Dominica? Grenada? Timbuktu? With some angst I must confess: I don’t know. Wasn’t it the late, great Donald Rumsfeld who once declared, “There are known knowns…There are unknown knowns…But there are also unknown unknowns.” Wow. How did he know? As for my troops, we just want to know…what are our marching orders?

That conversation has, at times, taken on a contentious, cocky tone that does NOT soothe the soul like a Sabbatical should. Sure, there are many options, but many more criteria and obstacles (known and unknown). Not to mention, the Caribbean is not exactly known for its easy transportation, affordable prices (on anything!), and transparency.

I mean, each and every island thinks of itself as an island unto itself. Island time rules, among other bizarre rules that take time to figure out. A ferry that runs “on the hour” may go awol, have a breakdown or mutiny, or take a week off for a holiday you’ve never heard of. Heck, there are countless languages, dialects, currencies, and chunks of sharp coral just waiting to slash and infect you during a simple snorkel outing. OUCH! No doubt: The planning is the hard part. Getting there is not always half the fun.

LIKE…What does one do with the feelings that arise now? You know: Fear, denial, panic, sticker-shock, nausea, family differences, what have ya. Wish I knew. Sometimes it sucks. I’m like, who needs THIS?

That all stated, we aim to go anyway. Or at least try. Having done this a few times before, I’m familiar with the emotional hurricanes that blow up about now. Good thing I’m much better as the years go by at managing such messes and stresses. HA!

• ODDS OF GOING: 55%
• TODAY’S BIGGEST BUTT: Cost—even a golf cart is $300/week in the Bahamas; airfare for one scenario just passed $8k (for cattle class, although in the islands you’re more likely to be seated with goats.)
• TODAY’S BIGGEST GROAN: The markets are sucking wind. How can one justify spending savings when those investments are worth less every day? Don’t postpone joy, sure, but on whose dime?
• TODAY’S BIGGEST INSPIRATION: It’s summer again here, and I want it to last forever. So remember: It does in the Caribbean!
• TODAY’S BIGGEST PROCRASTINATION: It’s summer again here, and I’m thinking maybe it will last forever (so we won’t need to go to the Caribbean!).
• TODAY’S PROMISE: A hot kayak ride at sunrise leaves a guy splashed with bliss and vinegary sweat.

Hi. I’m Kirk Horsted. Welcome to BreakAway–an amalgamation of opinions & ponderings on the provocative topic of Sabbaticals and Career Breaks. I emphatically believe that real people (like you!) can and should take these restorative breaks–and I’ve done a bunch of them myself to test the theory. Click What’s the Big Idea to read more…

For a firsthand account of what a BreakAway can look (& feel & sound & taste) like, check out the Travelog category of the blog, which chronicles my family’s 69-day tour of the West Indies during the winter of 2008-2009.  

Beyond that, If it’s all working properly, herein you may find:

• Inspiration. With any luck, you may find that the travelogs, trippy stories, and pictures from my past Sabbaticals will help kindle your own inner stirrings. After all, countless “ordinary” people find their way to successful Sabbaticals all the time. Really!
• Help! If you dream of taking a BreakAway someday (and who doesn’t?), you’ll find some recommended references—books, sites, more—to get you going.
• Humor? Let’s be clear: This site and blog endeavors to inform, but also entertain. Maybe even make you laugh (if only at me). This is NOT a Ph.D thesis. NOT a polished self-help hardback. NOT a “get-into-me,” MySpacey vanity show. Take it all in with a grain of salt (it goes well with beer) and just enjoy.
• Miscellanea. BreakAway is a big topic. And my brain “works” in mysterious ways. Thus you may find yourself reading about everything from finding work/life balance to being kidnapped. From the stupid economy to digitalia addiction. From lost luggage to moments of bliss. From the slow movement to fast sailboats. It’s all good, right?

So please…join the party. Take it all in. Leave a comment, ask a question or invite fellow Seekers, Slashers & Hackers to this site. Plot your own escape and share your plans.  

But for me, it’s time to get going. Time to live and blog like there’s no tomorrow. After all, do we know for certain that there is?

Carpe diem! Carpe noctus! Carpe vita!

And as we say in Minnesota, “Thanks for stoppin’…”

02/26/01: Los Angeles

By 1 in the morning on Saturday, we were flying away from the Cook Islands. By noon the same day, we were in L.A. Kirk’s aunt met us at the airport, and also brought the news that Kirk’s grandma had passed away the day before.

Death happens, and there’s probably no good time for it. But when e-updates started hinting that Grandma was failing, I said, in a moment of strange and selfish faith, “I think she’ll wait ‘til we get home.” As if punctual until the end, she died hours before we hit American soil. Naturally, that put a damper on our California visit. And the sky responded in-kind with rain the whole 48 hours we were there.

We pursued some low-key activities nonetheless—eating seafood, driving around the charming neighborhoods of Long Beach and points south, and visiting the aquarium. But the sky cried so hard that Pacific Coast Highway 1 became flooded. So we mostly took it easy, and saved sightseeing for sunnier times.

Grandma’s passing provides a timely reminder why, despite obvious costs, we indulge in temporary retirement now and then. Because even if you live long like she did, life is short. Because you have little control over when it ends. And because, for the most part, the world is a radiant place full of people who want to meet you. So it doesn’t hurt to get up, get out, and get away while you can.

Grandma was gregarious. Even in her final years, all she needed was a public bench and she’d likely have an acquaintance within minutes. That kind of old-fashioned openness and trust may be fading in a rushed and anxious era. But maybe not. As we traveled, we found that whoever was our new neighbor usually became a new friend. We rarely (never?) had to feel lost or lonely. And even when we didn’t speak the language, a greeting usually got one back.

So while we were intimidated by our own ambitious itinerary, there was little else to scare us out there. We encountered no holdups, thefts, or prejudice. Heck, only one airplane was late—less than an hour, and we lost no luggage. The only bad vibes we can recall, in fact, were three honks at Kirk’s campervan driving (and he probably deserved many more).

We’re not pollyannaish. And this trip could have gone 100 other directions. But it didn’t, and we had a world-class quest. Meanwhile, we also created this weblog, wrote a book, discovered some sweet places, and rediscovered how much fun time together can be.

We could go on—in our travels, about our travels, and about Grandma too. But it’s time to go home. First, though, we have one more trip that wasn’t on the original itinerary: to the prairies of South Dakota to say good-bye to someone who could make you believe that, oh yes, you can go around the world. A robust spirit who was always an inspiration is now a guardian angel.

Then it’s back to Minnesota, back to work, and back to other symptoms of normalcy. That includes anonymity. So to whatever extent our lives have been on display (should anyone be watching), we now close the curtains.

Thanks for joining us. Wherever you may be headed, happy travels. And Godspeed.

• Los Angeles.

By 1 in the morning on Saturday, we were flying away from the Cook Islands. By noon the same day, we were in L.A. Kirk’s aunt met us at the airport, and also brought the news that Kirk’s grandma had passed away the day before.

Death happens, and there’s probably no good time for it. But when e-updates started hinting that Grandma was failing, I said, in a moment of strange and selfish faith, “I think she’ll wait ‘til we get home.” As if punctual until the end, she died hours before we hit American soil. Naturally, that put a damper on our California visit. And the sky responded in-kind with rain the whole 48 hours we were there.

We pursued some low-key activities nonetheless—eating seafood, driving around the charming neighborhoods of Long Beach and points south, and visiting the aquarium. But the sky cried so hard that Pacific Coast Highway 1 became flooded. So we mostly took it easy, and saved sightseeing for sunnier times.

Grandma’s passing provides a timely reminder why, despite obvious costs, we indulge in temporary retirement now and then. Because even if you live long like she did, life is short. Because you have little control over when it ends. And because, for the most part, the world is a radiant place full of people who want to meet you. So it doesn’t hurt to get up, get out, and get away while you can.

Grandma was gregarious. Even in her final years, all she needed was a public bench and she’d likely have an acquaintance within minutes. That kind of old-fashioned openness and trust may be fading in a rushed and anxious era. But maybe not. As we traveled, we found that whoever was our new neighbor usually became a new friend. We rarely (never?) had to feel lost or lonely. And even when we didn’t speak the language, a greeting usually got one back.

So while we were intimidated by our own ambitious itinerary, there was little else to scare us out there. We encountered no holdups, thefts, or prejudice. Heck, only one airplane was late—less than an hour, and we lost no luggage. The only bad vibes we can recall, in fact, were three honks at Kirk’s campervan driving (and he probably deserved many more).

We’re not pollyannaish. And this trip could have gone 100 other directions. But it didn’t, and we had a world-class quest. Meanwhile, we also created this weblog, wrote a book, discovered some sweet places, and rediscovered how much fun time together can be.

We could go on—in our travels, about our travels, and about Grandma too. But it’s time to go home. First, though, we have one more trip that wasn’t on the original itinerary: to the prairies of South Dakota to say good-bye to someone who could make you believe that, oh yes, you can go around the world. A robust spirit who was always an inspiration is now a guardian angel.

Then it’s back to Minnesota, back to work, and back to other symptoms of normalcy. That includes anonymity. So to whatever extent our lives have been on display (should anyone be watching), we now close the curtains.

Thanks for joining us. Wherever you may be headed, happy travels. And Godspeed.

2/24/01: Rarotonga, Cook Islands

As we share travelogs and photos, we try to tell it like it is. We strive not to write like some photocopied Christmas letters that rave, brag, and boast—and instead endeavor to describe what we see over how we feel. (After all, the snowbound, the overworked, and the vacation-deprived probably don’t want to read about global gloating.) But for the most part, we have had a wonderful trip. So forgive us if it appears we got lucky, played our cards right, or received good karma from the travel gods. But if you think we’re incapable of dirtying our rose-colored glasses, read on.

The list of minor snafus on Rarotonga made up for our good fortune elsewhere. And while we liked the place a lot, we’re not entirely sure it liked us. Here are just a few of our misadventures.

• That’s sick. One of us caught a—cold? Flu? Both? It lasted for days and made one of us a suffering nuisance. Another of us got the “Bali Belli,” the type that sends your vacation straight to the toilet. That same person, he who loves to snorkel, then took on a double ear infection with side effects of deafness, orneriness, shots in the bum, and fear of flying.
• Wild weather. When the hurricane and/or cyclone wasn’t rocking the island, the heat and humidity were unlike anything we’ve ever experienced (and A.C. is as rare as snow shovels here). Afternoon activities were best left to seeking shade and a fast fan. What do you expect in the tropics in the summer? Guess we never asked.
• Transportation funk. It’s possible we could have had worse luck with catching (missing) busses, being left behind from tour groups (including at 2 am), and biking in the rain—but it’s not likely.
• Ants, the true story. Amazingly, there were few mozzies, sandflies, cockroaches, or the other usual insect suspects. That must be because they all got eaten by the little red ants. They invaded our hut by the millions so relentlessly that, eventually, we gave up fighting them. And yes, they bite.
• Attitude adjustment. For the most part, the Islanders are beatific, beautiful people; if you ask a stranger for directions, her smile can make you melt. Conversely, though, often when you ask a receptionist a simpler question, you got the glare, the stare, or the snarl. It’s understandable: A career of serving itinerant sun-worshipers would burn anyone out. But it got tiring for those of us who’ve never been here, and were just trying to find our way.

There’s more, but you get the picture. We don’t feel terribly defeated. And we would still recommend this lost-in-time slice of the South Pacific. But when on the move, you need to find a groove. And here, it seems like we were too hot or tired or sick to sustain one.