I will go ahead and confess that I have my doubts about this column, more so than my others. I believe that Steve called it boring, but I choose to think of it as laid back, on island time, at peace. Please forgive me.

Everyone wants something different out of a vacation. This year I planned our vacation – the first really big one in years – in the middle of a hectic period of school. Because of the stress, I think I wanted something calm and soothing.

For some, a day at a spa might do wonders. For me, however, being swathed in some gooey mixtures and having my feet tickled under the guise of a pedicure is more akin to torture than relaxing.

No, I wanted to get away from it all. Following the advice of that cliché, I began my search. The girls wanted to go to a beach and see the ocean for the first time. Steve really didn’t care, but just wanted me to plan it. My search took weeks. I surveyed numerous friends and co-workers and scoured the Internet for just the perfect spot. Nothing fit. We thought of Disney, but though the girls and I would gladly take up residence on Main Street, USA, Steve can tolerate the atmosphere only once every five years.

Then I stumbled up an interesting little place in Florida: St. George Island. How I arrived at that spot, metaphorically speaking was a complex series of Internet searches. But it fit the bill: we could rent a beach house for a week at what it would cost us for about four days at Disney.

Most of my journeys have had me staying in hotels, so renting someone’s beach house was a new experience. I read somewhere that renting a home allows you to try on someone’s lifestyle for a while. That sounded creepy until I began searching through the directory of rental properties.

Picture after picture of interiors and exteriors flitted across my computer screen. Names of the properties conjured beautiful images, like Sea Glaze or Calypso. (At least, it sounded beautiful before I watched “Pirates of the Caribbean 3”). Some names gave insight into the owner’s life: Rest My Case would surely belong to a retired attorney. And Recovery Room is probably the home away from home for a busy surgeon. So who might own Seas the Moment?

After much deliberation and with Steve cautioning me to pick a house for a reason other than the name, I chose one with a rather bland name but perfect location. Honestly, I selected the house closest to the beach.

With deposits made and the calendar marked, we began to look forward to our vacation. The only problem was when no one seemed to know anything about our island. Located on a stretch of Florida’s panhandle known as the Forgotten Coast, it makes sense that it would be a bit obscure. And obscure is what I wanted, right?

Every now and then we would run across someone who had either heard about our chosen spot or had visited. My mind was put at ease – yes, it would be wonderful. No, there wouldn’t be much to do, but plenty of beautiful sand and surf.

So in the end we loaded up the van and headed out, with my mom and grandmother (oh, the stories I could share). The long drive was most definitely worth it, even though mile after mile of curiously straight roads lined with pine trees made us question our decision and our directions.

Sometimes the happiest moments are found away from it all. While I still look forward to more adventurous vacations or vacations spots with lots to do, there is something to be said for finding the perfect spot in the middle of nowhere. There, you can kick back and be yourself. You can even lose your fear of a bathing suit and boredom.