When Ann Patchett has a ton of work to do and too many distractions, she leaves her home in Nashville and checks herself into the Bel Air Hotel to write.
Whereas once Ms. Patchett's vacation meant sore heels from a day at the museum (I'll take a wild guess that she was a 20-something at this point in her life), it evolved over time into the sort of spa-centered beach escape where massaged feet was more of the point. (Let me guess—she hit her mid-30's and was just sooo tired).
These days, it's something else entirely—a real vacation is a solo affair for Ms. Patchett. It's time away from an endless rotation of apple-pie appreciating house guests. It is an uninterrupted stretch of work near a patio filled with potted succulents. It's access to an efficient yet judgmental hotel concierge.
This is such a novel (and luxurious) idea to me—taking a trip to carve out time for myself to power through and wrap a project.
For the record, I'm hell-bent on making the most of the last 5 years of my tiki-hut decade.
P.S. More on Ms. Patchett's travel habits and some gems on life, relationships, and dogs can be found in her book This is the Story of a Happy Marriage.
P.P.S. A compendium of artists at work.
Photo via Unsplash.