“Plan your next escape – Arkansas.”

Normally, I’d buzz by that little promo. I see them all the time. But this time, something struck me about the message.

Nooo, it wasn’t the “Arkansas” part. Even though, yeah, I don’t think my choice would be Arkansas. So ... the word that hit me was “escape.” (I confess. Sometimes the littlest things trigger my train of thought.)

It had to be years ago when I first heard someone refer to a vacation as an escape. It was clever and pushed the right buttons. I mean, yeah, taking time off is kind of an escape. Getting away from daily drudgery. The stress. And some people do feel chained to a job to survive, to pay the bills. So the thought of a getaway would be enticing. An escape.

An escape also suggests adventure. You could do whatever you want. Go wherever. Freedom baby. For a while. But here I am today, looking back through my history of vacations and realizing that finding an escape was never high on my bucket list.

This has a lot to do with my parents. Their idea of a vacation was a trip to visit relatives who lived in another state. Those were interesting trips, but I don’t have many lasting, joyous memories. They do not compare with a trip to The Dells or one of those Disney extravaganzas. (Which, by the way, I have never done.)

I also do not remember moaning about it. We grew up with a tight budget. I understood that. My idea of full-on freedom, escaping, came with the close of school every year. In fact, I think we called it summer vacation. I loved it and looked forward to it. (It’s a bit weird, but even at my elder age, I still miss that feeling, that annual explosion into summer.)

Apparently, though, I lacked wanderlust. I probably was intimidated by the big, big world around me. Thanks to my university years, I was jerked into that world pretty quickly.

But even during my college days, I never got caught up in any spring break fever. There were no road trips to beaches and bikinis. Although ... those years did introduce me to travel via student journalism conferences, which were educational on many levels. (By that I mean they did resemble, at times, a spring break romp.)

There was a time ... more like a moment ... when I had this fantasy of getting my degree and then quickly hopping on a Harley and hitting the road to discover America before bowing to the world of work. I knew that even if I had the perfect job, I would also be locked into a daily routine governed by a clock. But there was no Harley. Got married instead.

No regrets. And I began a wonderful journey through journalism. I did love my weekends and holidays, but had no real urge to spend money to be somewhere else. I had to be taught the benefits of THE VACATION. It took some years, after I married again to a wife who loves to travel. Even more so, she loves to plan the travel. (It helps if she doesn’t tell me the total cost.)

She sees me as a reluctant traveler. It’s true, I guess. If she didn’t tell me when to pack, I’d probably stay close to home. But I have been to many states, hiked many national parks, and she finally got me across the pond to Paris, London and Edinburgh. She has taught me that travel is an adventure and a memory-maker, but she’s still working on my attitude.

Even as I write this, she is planning more trips. Oh, boy. But here’s a bit of irony, and I think she would agree. It is amazing when you are touring the country, dining out, absorbing history and other cultures, snapping those selfies, and having a lot of fun. But it also feels important and so comforting when you get back home.

There’s no escaping that.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle IL 61301.