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 stint for a fifth-grade class party， I slumped to the floor. I cant make another batch of cookies， I thought. I dont 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.

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

“To the mall？” my young daughter asked.

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

A quick flight to a neighboring state held no interest. Rather， I pulled out the 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 didnt want to spend my days rushing to tourist spots. That was the type of vacation Id 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 Id switch to Amtraks 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 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. 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 mothers 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，我迷失在工作和养儿育女的忙碌生活中。七点吃早餐，然后挑选衣服，装好背包，出发去学校，开车送孩子们去上体育或音乐课或去朋友家。吃晚餐、做作业、睡觉。在孩子睡觉到带他们游玩、乘车之间的这段时间，我抽空做我“真正”的工作——网络教学和学业指导。呼。

我记得，噢，太清楚了，那天早上我把第三个孩子从医院带回家。我带着一天大的婴儿走到家门口时，家里电话响了。出于习惯，我匆忙赶去接听，原来只是一个学生询问关于他所学课程的问题。回想过去，我几乎看到了在我头上飘扬的红旗，提醒我要作出改变。

那个满满的日程表持续了好几年。一开始是劳累并快乐着的。然而，不出所料，那把我累垮了。

一天晚上，先是跟一个学生开会，接着指导一个十岁的小孩做作业，然后为准备五年级的班级派对在深夜烘培，最后我重重地倒在了地板上。我想我不能再继续做饼干了。我不想再指导学生。就在昏暗的厨房里，我从一个女超人变成一个累垮了的女人，而我的家人正酣然入睡。

从地板爬起来后，我意识到我必须走出困境。我只花了不到24小时来制定我的计划。

“我准备去旅行，”在那周全家一起吃晚饭时，我对他们宣布了这件事。

“去购物中心吗？”我的小女儿问道。

“不是，”我向她解释。“我要一个人去洛杉矶旅行，我要坐州际火车。”

搭飞机一下子飞到邻州没一点意思。于是我拿出美国铁路公司的地图，选了一条最长的路线，预定了一张到南加州的火车票。

我从来没有特别想去洛杉矶旅游。但是，一个“看似不太吸引”的地方和一次长距离的旅程正是我所向往的。我不想把时间花在赶往各个旅游景点上。那是过去几年我和孩子们的旅游方式。这一次，我不想要安排，不想要计划。

就这样，在一个寒冷的冬夜，我在纽约登上了前往芝加哥的火车，到了芝加哥后转乘美国铁路公司的日常卧铺车前往洛杉矶。

我马上就感觉到压力离我远去。我分配到一个单人间——呃，其实更像是杂物间，而不像房间——但不管怎样，那是属于我的美妙空间。每天晚上都有乘务员把我的座椅变换成一张床，伴随着引擎的嚓嘎声、车厢的摇摆，我在摇摇晃晃中入睡。我和大家一起吃饭，在观景车厢中喝点小酒，随着火车经过一座座城市，横跨一片片田地，穿过一个个山脉，我陷入几近灵魂出窍的状态。

三天后，精力充沛的我从洛杉矶联合车站出来。到达后，我紧紧攫住我的包，我预备了要在一个大城市那熙熙攘攘的车站里进行一场搏斗。但我放松了戒心，阳光照进铺了瓷砖的过道，游客们悠闲地漫步，似乎没什么好担心的。

好几天我都在洛杉矶的街道上行走。我对高端的商店和画廊不感兴趣，大部分时间行走在小街小巷中。我正是在一条人迹罕至的小路上遇到了塞巴斯蒂安，一个向我要钱的15岁流浪少年。

“我们坐下来好吗？”我问他，看着跟我儿子差不多大的这么一个男孩独自流浪，我很震惊。

我们聊到毒品、目标和他母亲的问题。

“回学校去上学，”我一边说一边卷起一张钞票塞到他手里。

“回到你孩子的身边，”他这样回答我，咧嘴笑着走开了。

时间飞逝，我没有在一般的旅游景點花费一分钱。没有去参观电影拍摄地，没有到海滩的短途旅行。这不是一次传统意义上的旅行；不是常见的旅游版面上的亮点。

在最后一个下午，我沿着小路徒步爬上好莱坞山。我独自努力前行，感叹着沿途的美景，震撼于开阔的视野，血管下流动着的生命力让我精神一振。

那次旅行已是一年前的事情了，我对生活重获的热情不减且增。回来几周后，我报名参加了一个摄影班，加入了划船俱乐部。我规定了学生来电的时间段。简言之，我在繁忙中给自己安排了属于自己的私人时间。

是的，由于参加了晚间划船活动，我现在会错过一些家庭聚餐。我允许自己在中午稍作休息，尤其是在光线适合拍照的时候。但我的家庭仍然和睦美满，我也能完成工作。还有，最棒的是，我脸上挂着灿烂的微笑。