For years， I was lost in that delicate dance of working and raising young children. Breakfast at seven. Clothes picked out. Backpacks filled. Off to school. Drive to sports…or music lessons…or friends’houses. Dinner. Homework. Bed. And in between babies’ naps and play dates and taxiing， I fit in my “real”job—online teaching and academic advising. Phew.

I remember， oh so clearly， that morning I brought my third child home from the hospital. As I walked in the door， carrying a day-old baby， the home phone rang. Out of habit， I rushed to answer， only to be greeted by a student asking questions about his courses. Looking back， I can almost see that red flag floating over my head， warning me that something had to change.

That filled-to-the-brim schedule went on for years. It was， at first， delightfully exhausting. Predictably， though， it wore me down.

One evening， after a conference with a student， a homework session with a 10-year-old， and a midnight baking 1） stint for a fifth-grade class party， I 2）slumped to the floor. I can’t make another batch of cookies， I thought. I don’t want to advise another student. I had gone from superwoman to broken-down woman， right there in my dimly lit kitchen， with my family all safely tucked into bed.

Pulling myself up off the floor， I realized I had to get out of Dodge. It took me less than 24 hours to make my plans.

“I’m going on a journey，” I announced at a family dinner that week.

“To the mall？” my young daughter asked.

“No，” I explained. “I’m going on a trip–alone–to Los Angeles. And I’m taking the cross-country train.”

A quick flight to a neighboring state held no interest. Rather， I pulled out the 3）Amtrak map， selected their longest route and reserved a ticket to Southern California.

I had never had much desire to visit Los Angeles. But a not-so-appealing-to-me place and a lengthy journey—was a draw. I didn’t want to spend my days rushing to tourist spots. That was the type of vacation I’d taken with my children for years. On this trip， I wanted no agenda， no plans.

And so， on a frigid winter night， I boarded a train in New York and headed for Chicago， where I’d switch to Amtrak’s daily sleeper to Los Angeles.

Almost at once， I felt the stress fade away. I was assigned my own room—well， more broomcloset-like， than room-like—but nonetheless， beautifully my own. A porter turned my seat into a bed for me each night， and I was rocked to sleep by the 4）chugging of the engine， the swaying of the cars. I ate community meals and sipped wine in the observation car， lulled into a near zombielike state as the train passed cities， crossed cornfields and tunneled through mountain ranges.

Three days later， rested， I exited at Union Station in Los Angeles. 5）Clutching my bag on arrival， I expected to battle the bustle of a big city station. Instead， my guard was released. Sunshine drenched the terra-cotta-tiled hallways， and travelers strolled casually， free， it seemed， from concern.

For days I walked the streets of Los Angeles. With little interest in the high-end stores and galleries， I spent most of my time on side streets. It was on one of those not-so-well-traveled paths where I met Sebastian， a homeless 15-year-old， who approached me for money.

“Can we sit？” I asked， startled that a boy， not much older than my son， was on his own.

We talked about drugs and goals and his mother’s problems.

“Go back to school，” I said as I folded a bill into his palm.

“Go back to your kids，” he answered， grinning， and wandered away.

The time flew by， without a cent spent at the usual tourist attractions. There were no tours of movie lots， no excursions to the beach. It was an unconventional visit； one not typically highlighted on the pages of a travel section.

During my final afternoon， I hiked the trails of the Hollywood Hills. Alone， I pressed on， awed by the beauty， overcome by the views， and energized by the life flowing through my veins.

More than a year has now passed since that trip and my renewed zest for life has only grown. Within weeks of returning， I signed up for a photography class. I joined a rowing club. I set firm hours for student calls. In short， I fit “me-time” into my busy load.

Yes， I now miss some family dinners in favor of evening rows. And I allow myself midday work breaks， particularly if the lighting is good for shooting pictures. Still， the family thrives. The work gets done. And， wonderfully， my smile broadens.

有好幾年，我迷失在工作和養(yǎng)兒育女的忙碌生活中。七點吃早餐，然后挑選衣服，裝好背包，出發(fā)去學校，開車送孩子們?nèi)ド象w育或音樂課或去朋友家。吃晚餐、做作業(yè)、睡覺。在孩子睡覺到帶他們游玩、乘車之間的這段時間，我抽空做我“真正”的工作—網(wǎng)絡教學和學業(yè)指導。呼。

我記得，噢，太清楚了，那天早上我把第三個孩子從醫(yī)院帶回家。我?guī)е惶齑蟮膵雰鹤叩郊议T口時，家里電話響了。出于習慣，我匆忙趕去接聽，原來只是一個學生詢問關于他所學課程的問題?；叵脒^去，我?guī)缀蹩吹搅嗽谖翌^上飄揚的紅旗，提醒我要作出改變。

那個滿滿的日程表持續(xù)了好幾年。一開始是勞累并快樂著的。然而，不出所料，那把我累垮了。

一天晚上，先是跟一個學生開會，接著指導一個十歲的小孩做作業(yè)，然后為準備五年級的班級派對在深夜烘培，最后我重重地倒在了地板上。我想我不能再繼續(xù)做餅干了。我不想再指導學生。就在昏暗的廚房里，我從一個女超人變成一個累垮了的女人，而我的家人正酣然入睡。

從地板爬起來后，我意識到我必須走出困境。我只花了不到24小時來制定我的計劃。

“我準備去旅行，”在那周全家一起吃晚飯時，我對他們宣布了這件事。

“去購物中心嗎？”我的小女兒問道。

“不是，”我向她解釋?！拔乙粋€人去洛杉磯旅行，我要坐州際火車?！?/p>

搭飛機一下子飛到鄰州沒一點意思。于是我拿出美國鐵路公司的地圖，選了一條最長的路線，預定了一張到南加州的火車票。

我從來沒有特別想去洛杉磯旅游。但是，一個“看似不太吸引”的地方和一次長距離的旅程正是我所向往的。我不想把時間花在趕往各個旅游景點上。那是過去幾年我和孩子們的旅游方式。這一次，我不想要安排，不想要計劃。

就這樣，在一個寒冷的冬夜，我在紐約登上了前往芝加哥的火車，到了芝加哥后轉乘美國鐵路公司的日常臥鋪車前往洛杉磯。

我馬上就感覺到壓力離我遠去。我分配到一個單人間—呃，其實更像是雜物間，而不像房間—但不管怎樣，那是屬于我的美妙空間。每天晚上都有乘務員把我的座椅變換成一張床，伴隨著引擎的嚓嘎聲、車廂的搖擺，我在搖搖晃晃中入睡。我和大家一起吃飯，在觀景車廂中喝點小酒，隨著火車經(jīng)過一座座城市，橫跨一片片田地，穿過一個個山脈，我陷入幾近靈魂出竅的狀態(tài)。

三天后，精力充沛的我從洛杉磯聯(lián)合車站出來。到達后，我緊緊攫住我的包，我預備了要在一個大城市那熙熙攘攘的車站里進行一場搏斗。但我放松了戒心，陽光照進鋪了瓷磚的過道，游客們悠閑地漫步，似乎沒什么好擔心的。

好幾天我都在洛杉磯的街道上行走。我對高端的商店和畫廊不感興趣，大部分時間行走在小街小巷中。我正是在一條人跡罕至的小路上遇到了塞巴斯蒂安，一個向我要錢的15歲流浪少年。

“我們坐下來好嗎？”我問他，看著跟我兒子差不多大的這么一個男孩獨自流浪，我很震驚。

我們聊到毒品、目標和他母親的問題。

“回學校去上學，”我一邊說一邊卷起一張鈔票塞到他手里。

“回到你孩子的身邊，”他這樣回答我，咧嘴笑著走開了。

時間飛逝，我沒有在一般的旅游景點花費一分錢。沒有去參觀電影拍攝地，沒有到海灘的短途旅行。這不是一次傳統(tǒng)意義上的旅行；不是常見的旅游版面上的亮點。

在最后一個下午，我沿著小路徒步爬上好萊塢山。我獨自努力前行，感嘆著沿途的美景，震撼于開闊的視野，血管下流動著的生命力讓我精神一振。

那次旅行已是一年前的事情了，我對生活重獲的熱情不減且增?；貋韼字芎螅覉竺麉⒓恿艘粋€攝影班，加入了劃船俱樂部。我規(guī)定了學生來電的時間段。簡言之，我在繁忙中給自己安排了屬于自己的私人時間。

是的，由于參加了晚間劃船活動，我現(xiàn)在會錯過一些家庭聚餐。我允許自己在中午稍作休息，尤其是在光線適合拍照的時候。但我的家庭仍然和睦美滿，我也能完成工作。還有，最棒的是，我臉上掛著燦爛的微笑。