During the past few weeks, it has become obvious why most people who hold office jobs do not maintain journals: put simply, life in the nine-to-five world is just not that interesting. Even if my limited free time were spent jousting with the forces of evil, writing the great American novel, and delving into the mysteries of Scientology, I would probably still be just another desk jockey treading the thin line between mind-numbing boredom and unrestrained road rage. Fortunately, my mundane existence has flowed along smoothly thanks to my mundane routine.
Initially, I intended to balance the sedentary office lifestyle with an aggressive training regiment designed to prepare me for a triathalon. However, it quickly became apparent that I can only swim at a pre-school level. After a summer of thrashing around the pool and drinking an unhealthy amount of chlorine, I am forced to deal with the unhappy conclusion that even a sprint-distance triathalon (1/2 mile swim) would likely result in either drowning or missing the time cut-off. Hopefully, if my boat ever sinks, I’ll be within a half-mile of the shore.
Two weeks ago, the monotony was broken by a trip to Destin, Florida to sail aboard my co-worker’s 32-foot ketch. A couple of years ago, during a Christmas visit to Atlanta, my father, my brother, and I joined the owner, Bob Gruber, to go for a sail on the very same ketch. During our first attempt, we only made it about 100 feet from the dock before realizing that the engine wasn’t delivering the necessary propulsion to power the boat. The captain, Mssr. Gruber, piloted the uncontrollable missile back to the slip and, in the process, rammed the dock so hard that the anchor on the front of the boat pushed a 150-pound storage box about five feet. After the rough landing, Brian was enlisted to dive into the cold December water in an attempt to scrape away anything that could be blocking the flow of water to the engine. Following several hours of scraping, hitting, and praying, we decided to call it a night and returned to the landlocked comforts of Atlanta. All in all, it was an appropriate introduction to sailing and a frustrating experience that would/will be repeated often.
With such an illustrious history, the expectations were set fairly low for our most recent outing. After a drive through scenic L.A. (Lower Alabama), we reached the marina in Fort Walton Beach, Florida on Friday evening. On Saturday, we set out for Sandestin under cloudy skies and variable winds. Our first stop was in Destin Harbor, where Captain Bob dodged inexperienced water skiers and incompetent families piloting unwieldy pontoon boats before dropping the anchor for lunch. To assure that the anchor was properly set, I followed my usual policy of diving on the anchor to visually verify that the boat was secure. However, unlike the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean, the pea-green, diesel-laden water of Destin Harbor reduced visibility to less than two feet. Once satisfied that the anchor was secure (achieved Hellen Keller style), Eric and I slid across an oil slick to shore in order to explore the litter-strewn beach.
Following lunch and an afternoon downpour, we set out for Sandestin, a sprawling resort that serves the what-passes-for-wealthy elite of the southeast. This pearl of the “Redneck Riviera” boasts a nice marina, hotel complexes in all shapes and sizes, a bevy of shops, and enough bars with live bands covering Jimmy Buffet songs to satisfy even the most devoted parrothead.
There are times in life when circumstances conspire to create a situation that no amount of planning, hard work, or merit could ever achieve. Perhaps it was the thrill of being back on the water. Maybe it was the gentle lapping of the waves on the glimmering hull. It could have been the golden nymph winking at me from my overpriced beer. Whatever the reason, our blessed crew found ourselves surrounded by an assortment of muses that inspired the mind, warmed the heart, and freed the soul to soar. To be a witness to such beauty merged with the sweet innocence that only a southern girl can offer is a gift that can give a man religion. Several hours spent in the presence of these lovely angels from Kentucky, Alabama, and Louisiana and suddenly Intelligent Design doesn’t seem like such a crackpot theory.
Even if I hate dancing and was pressured into dancing with a bachelorette in front of a large audience. Even if Eric lost his sandals and spent a few hours wandering aimlessly looking for the boat. Even if I ended up sleeping outside in the rain. Even if I left Sandestin with less money, dignity, and self-respect than when I arrived. I still had a good time. Inspired by the magical night in Florida, Eric and I decided to return to Destin the next weekend. We agreed that any attempt to recreate the experience of the previous weekend was doomed to failure, but we could not have guessed how different the two weekends would be.
Demonstrating admirable generosity and unquestionably poor judgment, Mr. Gruber kindly offered to allow us to stay on his boat. Departing Atlanta on Saturday morning, we had driven about 5 hours and were a half hour from the boat when I realized that I had left the key to the boat back in Atlanta. Being the frugal (i.e. cheap) and rugged (i.e. lazy) individuals that we are, we decided that we could endure a night outside sleeping on the hard decks without pillows, sheets, or any form of cover. We attempted to make the best of the situation by mixing up some White Russians and going out to dinner at what was advertised as the best bar in the area.
However, despite only being a few miles down the road, everything seemed different. Gone were the beautiful girls of the SEC. The weather suggested a good book and an intimate evening with the one you love (not your cousin). Instead of the music urging us to “get drunk and screw,” we were reminded that “everybody hurts, sometimes.” Sensing that the Gods were against us, we wisely decided to kill the evening before it took birth. The inevitable post mortem the next morning over breakfast was surprisingly clear, with all details easily recalled and without any of the whining one usually has to suffer through when dining with Eric on a Sunday morning. It was also incredibly dull. As a final kick in the teeth, we later learned that a friend of the owner’s, who was in Destin at the time, had an extra set of keys and could have let us into the boat.
As the summer winds down, I am eager to return to the love of my life – even if she is a fat, aging, pock-marked tub. Who among us couldn’t use a little work? The summer has been full of ups and downs, never mind that the peaks and valleys may not be impressive or as worthy of awe as I might have hoped. It has been nice to live with my parents and it has been a pleasure to be able to get to better know my cousin Eric.
While I cannot claim to have explored everything that Atlanta has to offer, I feel that I have seen enough. The wiser among us may claim that it is inappropriate to pass judgment without fully knowing a person, place, or situation. I admire people who not only hold this belief, but actually adhere to it. Sadly, I’m not one of them and I find it more fun to pass judgment. Further, I enjoy the feedback when people disagree with my opinions. With that said, and since I am shockingly short of material to write about, I have included below a ranking of the cities that I have lived in over the past six years. Since graduating from college, I have been fortunate enough (or unstable enough) to have spent time in a variety of different places. For the purposes of this list, I am only including cities where I spent two months or more. Let the debate begin.
- Tokyo – No question. Interesting people. Beautiful surroundings. Fascinating culture. It was impossible to go through a day without learning something. Even a simple trip to the grocery store was stimulating. It helped that I was a minor celebrity in my little town and I enjoyed the attention of shaking hands, posing for pictures, and being compared to Tom Cruise (or maybe they were commenting on my harebrained religion and backward views on psychiatry).
- Boston – As close to a home city as I have. Having spent four summers working in the Back Bay during high school and college, I love the young, college feel of the city. My summer of 2003, spent studying architecture in Cambridge, allowed me to experience a new part of the city and opened my eyes to the array of cultural influences available in a relatively small city. Being able to escape to my parent’s cottage on Cape Cod was nice, too.
- Seattle – Similar to Boston, it is a moderately sized city that has an international feel. I enjoy the rain, the café lifestyle, the focus on books and coffee, and the luxury of having the mountains and ocean so close together. The people have a better perspective on work-life balance than in any other place I have ever been. The scenery is beautiful and it always feels as if there are not enough hours in the day.
- Chicago – I spent two years living in Chicago, which I found to be an extremely affordable and manageable city. The architecture is beautiful, the lakefront is a runner’s dream, the East Bank Club was my home away from home, and the Art Institute was my lunchtime escape from the stresses of work. In the summer, bars and restaurants would overflow onto the sidewalks and there was a palpable happiness in the air. Then there is the winter, when every attempt is made to avoid having to go outside and the entire city goes into hibernation. If I was a more consistent person, I think that I could be happy staying in Chicago.
- Stamford, CT – I guess Stamford counts as a city. As the home base of what used to be called GE Capital, there was an eerie comfort in knowing most of the people in any restaurant or bar. Stamford is disliked by many of my friends who were forced to live and visit there, but I always enjoyed the familiarity of a small city that had a few good restaurants, some occasionally fun bars, and easy access to NYC. On weekends, I was able to drive a few hours to Cape Cod. I consider myself a product of New England, having spent more time living in Connecticut than anywhere else, and I always appreciate the diners, deli’s, and surly residents of the northeast.
- Hyderabad, India – I spent just over two months living in a hotel in Hyderbad during my time managing an Accounts Receivable collections team. I cannot pretend that I enjoyed leaving for work at 5:30 PM local time and returning to the hotel at 5:00 AM local time. Adhering to US hours resulted in a constant state of insomnia as I spent most of my days laying by the pool in a semi-daze. However, I was able to experience a rich culture, to visit interesting sites throughout India, to enjoy Indian cuisine, to attend a Muslim wedding, and to meet some of the nicest people that I have ever encountered. Initially, I found India to be extremely challenging, but I have grown to enjoy my visits and now count the country as one of my favorite places.
- Danbury, CT – Similar to Stamford, although even less of city. Danbury literally has two exits, a nice grocery store, and a gym. As far as I can tell, that is about it. On the upside, it is in the northeast and has access to all of the advantages described for Stamford. Still, this “city” was truly a suburb and is not the place for a 20-something to end up.
- Atlanta – Atlanta is spread out, southern, and the people are very nice. Unfortunately, I don’t want a city to feel like a suburb, I don’t understand the strong identification with the Civil War (is there any other group that is so proud of a war that they lost?), and I prefer my city-dwellers rude and unapproachable. It doesn’t help that driving is required to get anywhere. Every city claims to be the worst cities for driving in the country; Atlanta gets my vote. There are too many cars and the people just aren’t that bright. Maybe it is because people from all over America come to Atlanta and bring their own driving styles, making it impossible to guess that the guy in front of you is a laid-back, dim-witted, passive driver while the woman behind you is a frustrated, rage-fueled, aggressive driver. Whatever the reason, every little errand ends up being a time-consuming adventure. It is no wonder that everyone cloisters themselves away in their homes. Atlanta has all of the problems of a city (crime, poverty, taxes, etc.) and none of the benefits (culture, museums, 24-hour excitement, easy access to services, good public transportation, etc.).
I can’t wait to return to the 3rd world countries of the Caribbean so that I can get a taste of civilization and enjoy the company of a more sophisticated population.