A million years ago, in the late ‘70s, I moved to Hollywood to work in the recording studios. I had all the usual problems: rent, money, and work, missing friends and family back home, was Hollywood a mistake, what about saving trees and animals and plants––what the hell am I doing––Stop. I couldn’t take the round and round insanity of it all. I had to get away. I needed a vacation, but I didn’t have the time or money, so there I was, a puddle of goo oozing out of my apartment every day.
One day, I saw a bright, green double-decker tour bus packed with bobbing heads. Of course! Vacation is a state of mind. I took my first “mind vacation,” a week off of worrying or thinking about any of the things that upset me. I still went to work and did all my usual chores, but I was on vacation. And it worked. It gave me a break. I started doing it from time to time, and it was my secret. No one knew I was on vacation.