A nagging question: On the nature of holidays

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Why do we live for holidays? Why do we spend more time planning for the next trip than for our next phase in life?

What is it about the present predicament that we cannot experience it fully and must resort only to looking forward?

Is this a sad expression of modern living? That we're so numbed to the chaotic pace of the modern metropolis and can only long to be away from it.

Or is this an essential, inescapable feature of the human condition? That we will always search for the elusive, undefinable something.

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