They always trick us with words.

There's a subtle deception in the way we talk about holidays. We use words from fugitives – "“escape”, “to escape”, “run away” – which taste more like iron than saltiness.

But why do we use criminal vocabulary? It almost seems as if our lives are a prison to escape from, not an existence to live. It's as if the ordinary were a sentence to be served behind bars of duties and prohibitions, and the beach became a brief, illusory probation.

Perhaps the time has come to change our vocabulary, and with it our perspective.

No more running away, but choosing a different time.

No more escaping, but breathing deeply.

No more running away, but finding each other again.

Because if vacation is the ultimate expression of freedom, then the rest of the year can't be a prison. It should be a constant training for that freedom. Only in this way can we learn to find a crack even in the most intense Monday, a sliver of sunset even in the artificial light of an office.

Otherwise, the truth is this: we are not people on vacation, but prisoners with a train ticket in our pockets.