When I asked my husband, Quent, last winter if he wanted to join me to meet up with my mom, brother, and 10-year-old nephew for a spring vacation at a theme park resort in Florida, he politely replied, “No, thank you.” I think what he really meant was “Hell, no.”
It’s not that he doesn’t like my family. Rather, he’s had his fill of crowds and coasters, having traveled several times to the likes of Walt Disney World, Universal Studios, SeaWorld, and Legoland with our now-adult children.
I figured my semi-retired, work-from-home husband would putter around our quiet house in Colorado while I was off in the land of lengthy ride lines and brightly decorated hotels teeming with young kids. Instead, he announced his plan to fly to Mexico at the same time for a weeklong solo trip, where he’d rent a car and scout out potential vacation destinations for the two of us along the Pacific Coast.
Fine by me. I thought it was a great idea, not only because he was thinking ahead to future tropical travels for the two of us, but also because he absolutely deserved time to do his own thing in a country he loves. When our children were younger, I was more often the one who planned getaways with pals and went solo to work-related conferences. He was the parent left at home keeping an eye on our kiddos. (No one complained. All three of them loved mom-free — aka nag-free — time together when house rules often went out the window.)
However, now that we’re empty nesters, no one needs to stay home while the other is gallivanting. Our initial foray into separate simultaneous trips last spring was a success, so we did it again a few months later. On a three-week trip to Thailand, I spent eight nights at an island fitness retreat eating vegetarian food, going to multiple strength and yoga classes, and getting daily massages. It was another “hell, no” situation for Quent.
Meanwhile, my husband bounced around different nearby towns, staying in budget bungalows and reading on the beach. Other retreat attendees couldn’t believe it. “Wait. Your husband’s here, but not here?” was a common response. It may not be typical, but we have learned that vacationing separately has only enhanced our 24-year marriage. Here’s why it works for us:
We have different interests.
By most counts, my husband and I are like-minded travelers. We love to sightsee in a new-to-us city by foot. Most of our vacation destinations allow for plenty of time spent in nature and on hiking trails. In a foreign destination, we’d sooner splurge on excellent restaurant meals than purchase souvenirs. Where we differ? I’m keener to stay in luxury hotels, whereas he’s fine with bare-bones accommodations. And I opt for cautiously sticking to the beaten path — safety first! — more than him.
I bunked with my mom in a high-rise tower in Florida within walking distance to a massive water park. Quent stayed in rustic accommodations in small towns in Mexico. (He did splurge on rooms with air conditioning, though.) While I lolled around in a lazy river, played with my nephew in a giant wave pool, and relaxed in a lounge chair with a piña colada in hand, my husband went deep-sea fishing with a boat owner he met on the street and picked up a hitchhiker who subsequently invited him to his home for dinner. Creature comforts versus random — and questionably safe — adventures? Everyone’s happy.
We’re of a certain age.
There’s no way Quent and I would have traveled separately in our dating and newlywed era when we worked full time and had only two weeks of coveted PTO. Now, we’re both able to do our remote part-time jobs from anywhere, so we have the time (and money, frankly) to enjoy traveling both apart and together throughout the year.
We’re confident in our relationship.
I can see how separate simultaneous vacations might become a competitive game. Who picked the best restaurant? Who’s having more fun? That’s not our case. Since we started dating, we’ve always delighted in each other’s happiness, never envious of the other’s singular experiences, accolades, or opportunities. Plus, our marriage vows are solid. No roving eyes here. I can see how this style of vacationing may not work for couples on shaky relationship ground.
We’re capable travelers.
Quent grew up road-tripping across the U.S. and camping in Alaska’s wilderness with his family, while my childhood trips were rare weekend getaways at New England beaches. My husband brought me up to speed as we’ve traveled the world over the years. While I adore our trips together — and his help lifting a heavy carry-on into an overhead bin — I’m perfectly capable of navigating strange places myself, finding it both exciting and empowering to make my own travel memories.
We value time apart.
At the start of the pandemic, Quent packed up his office to work from home. He never went back. As a freelance writer and editor, I’ve long worked joyfully by myself at home, so this was a huge adjustment for me to have another body in the house all the time. Despite the lifting of many pandemic restrictions, we’re generally homebodies, so we’re still together in the house a lot. I crave my alone time, so vacationing separately is a welcome change of scenery on multiple levels.
We love our reunions.
Last fall, when we reconnected at a resort in Thailand after a week apart, we snuggled in oversize beanbags on the beach. Goofy grin on my face, I kept repeating, “I’m so happy! I’m so happy!” And it wasn’t only because I had a cold beer in hand after being alcohol free for a week. I was genuinely thrilled to see and hug my husband. When you’re accustomed to nightly goodnight kisses for more than two decades, that physical connection is so welcomed after a short break.
Perhaps more significantly, after separate adventures, we’re excited to get back together to share stories. In long stretches of togetherness, we regularly fall into a comfortable silence in the car or at the dinner table. After vacationing on our own, we delight in telling and hearing travel tales. And we’re equally satisfied with our vacation choices: “Wow, that small-boat ocean fishing with a stranger sounds like a nightmare to me, but I’m so glad you had fun!”
Our method for keeping our marriage fresh as we near our silver anniversary might not work for all. For us, absence absolutely does make the heart grow fonder. Separate simultaneous vacations allow me to indulge in the glorious joys of solo travel. Stretching out diagonally in a freshly made king-size hotel bed comes to mind. But they also remind me that being married to someone who’s happy to adventure on his own while I do my thing is a relationship not to take for granted.
Kara Williams is a Colorado-based writer who has contributed to The Denver Post, Travel + Leisure, TripSavvy, and TravelAge West.
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