Vacation in the Time of the Web

A byproduct of attending business school in the 1980s is the unshakable belief that most everything in the world can be explained by a 2X2 matrix.

For that, we have the Boston Consulting Group to thank.  I remember well discussing product portfolio theory in terms of cash cows, rising stars and dogs.  The BCG Matrix, widely taught (and even occasionally used), has since been displaced by strategy cubes and even gaudier schemes, but it is truly the matrix that launched a thousand chips. 

I mention this because I am now fully convinced that the 2X2 matrix is the very best way to explain the new “summer vacation,” or more particularly, how we all handle the collision between needing time off, and living in a world where the Web never takes time off.

To wit:

The secret of the 2X2 matrix is that we get to define a world that doesn't really exist, populate it with stereotypes that don't really exist, and then explain in concrete detail how this world (that doesn't really exist) really functions.  Really.  Done in PowerPoint, with conviction, it's nearly as good as Scenario Planning.

Herewith my schema: There are two kinds of employees, those who vacation by "checking out" on a beach, a campsite, or maybe a hideaway in the mountains.  They "recreate" by tuning out and letting their brains focus on John Grisham and cold beer.

Their counterpart is an employee who "recreates" by engaging a different part of his or her brain--say, by touring cathedrals or going on an archaeological dig or climbing K2.  Both are cool and good, just different.

Now, to complete my imaginary, matricied world, employees can also be segmented by their relationship to technology, or: those dying to get off the grid and shed all the flotsam and jetsam of their Web-infested lives, and those who feel lost and alone without constantly lapping up the current of the might River Web.

(Whoa.  Might be time to start that novel.)

Put these together, pick a few memorable names to capture the four quadrants, and you have a thing of elegance: The "Vacation in the Time of the Web" matrix that explains all.  Watch:

Are you with me?  Could you see me at a TED lecture flashing this thing up on the screen, dazzling the attendees?  Precisely.

Here goes.


The "Lost" Employee Goes on Vacation

Let's start with the “See ya later and don’t even try to find me while I sleep and eat and drink” employee who is headed for a week or two of pina coladas in the sun, most decidely without phone or computer.  Email this employee during vacation and the message comes flying back, “I’m out of the office till July 25^th.  If you need assistance you’re SOL.”  In matrix terms, this is what I refer to as the “Lost” quadrant—happy doing nothing, happy knowing nothing.  Recreation for this kind of person means as little stimulus of the frontal lobe as possible, and nothing that reminds him of the other 50 weeks of his year.

Once upon a time, this was the standard definition of a vacation.  Once upon a time phones had cords.

If you are in this camp, rejoice.  You likely have the “Airplane Mode” switch in the back of your head--a genetic advantage that will put you in good stead when the Singularity hits. 

Journey to the Center of the Earth

Compare that to the “happy knowing nothing, but must recreate” employee, who will be doing an off-the-beaten-trail tour of Asia Minor and plans to bring along his iPhone for Solitaire, but certainly not to contact you in the downtime between ancient Thrace and Permagum.

I caught sight of one of these kinds of folks, Paul Theroux, writing "Why I Hate Vacation" in the July/August 2010 issue of Men's Health.  "I am against the supine, horizontal, gorging-at-the-buffet, groveled-to-by-the-staff vacations of utter idleness.  My idea of a true vacation is something I did not long ago: camping and then riding my bicycle up 10,023-foot Haleakala volcano in Maui. . .The main things are. . .to cut all your ties with home.  Forget about phoning and texting.  Just disappear."

That's the "Journey" employee: exotic and invisible.

Funny.  As I write this post I am just finishing up another pass through Daniel Boorstin’s Democratic Experience, and I am struck by just how recent this idea of exotic travel—indeed, even to places like Hawaii or Western Europe--is to Americans.  Until the 1920s, Boorstin writes, only the rich and privileged traveled overseas for vacation, often departing from New York to the fanfare of a bon-voyage party and only traveling First Class, with servants in tow.

Europe was truly exotic then.  When Mark Twain caught his first sight of the cancan in Paris he admits to throwing his hands in front of his face (though, he adds, "I looked through my fingers").  Abigail Adams had her “delicacy wounded” at the French ballet.  William Jennings Bryant in 1907 told his countrymen traveling abroad that they would return “more widely informed, but more intensely American.” 

Certain wealthy Americans traveled to Europe on cultural raiding parties.  Mrs. Potter Palmer, said to have the smallest waist and largest fortune in Chicago (thanks to her husband’s ownership of Marshall Fields) sent millions of dollars of painting and sculpture back to the U.S.  Mrs. Isabella Steward Gardner focused on European painting.  J.P. Morgan bought whatever he liked for the Met in New York City.

After 1920, however, overseas travel became far more democratic.  The American standard of living was improving rapidly, as were mid-scale steamship lines.  In 1939 Pan American Airways flew 22 passengers to Europe on the “Dixie Clipper,” launching the age of commercial vacation travel.  By 1950 air travelers going overseas outnumbered sea travelers; by 1970, air travel accounted for 97% of overseas trips.  The tourism flows were so great that the Federal government began worrying about balance of trade.

That was the last great change in summer vacation--its democratization--of which we are the happy recipients.  Today, most anyone can get on the next flight to Istanbul or Tibet, or escape to a warm weather beach.

Now, as my elegant matrix makes clear, we're going through the next great change in summer vacations: the non-vacation vacation.  The "can take it with you" vacation.  The "grid disturbs my time off" vacation.  And that leads us directly to the two bottom quadrants.

Find Me on Facebook

This is the “happy doing nothing, but I can't bear to leave the grid” employee.  Beware: Not a single business-related email or phone call will be returned during vacation, but you will be inundated with Facebook postings showing pictures of grilled mahi-mahi and contrasting Doric and Ionic columns.  This is the person who leaves the email return that says, “I’m out of the office until July 25^th.  If you need help please call X-3344 and ask to speak to Jan, who knows how to reach me if necessary.  But won't.”

You can have a little fun with this kind of employee if you post work-related issues to their Facebook account, like, "I sure hope you caught the bad news today on your work email."  

How Can I Miss You if You Won’t Go Away?

Finally, we come to the most obnoxious employee of all.  I know this person.  Well.  This is the employee who cannot leave the grid but must recreate.  In battery terms, this is the person who likes to be placed in a warm oven when not in use.  This person comes without an “Airplane Mode” switch, and often without any “Off” switch at all.  This person answers emails while walking up the slope at Macha Picchu.  This is the employee who doesn’t change his email message for fear that someone might actually leave him alone.  This person takes 570 pictures of his trip and solves for next year's development spending needs and is always tapping his foot anxiously at lunch.  This person leaves the office but won’t go away.

Obnoxious.  Really.  Trust me.

These four employees represent the Summertime Tower of Babel.  None understand the other, which explains weird Friday afternoon conversations during the summer.  Conversations between cows and dogs, question marks and rising stars.

“I’m outa here.  See you in two weeks.”

“Have fun!  I’ll drop you a note every couple of days with an update on that big project.”

“Don’t bother.  My phone won’t work where I’m going.”

“You’re going to Paris.”

“Wrong side of the Eiffel Tower.  Bad time of year.  Sunspots.  French exchange problems.  World Cup traffic.”

“Oh. , ,I don’t know how you can stand to be off the grid.  What if something bad happens?”

". . . . .What's your point?"

Posted by Entrepreneur Generations

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