Living with Excess

We just returned from a trip to Florida's Gulf Coast for our spring break. Our go-to spot is in Rosemary Beach, nestled among about 20 different little mini-cities on beautiful 30A. Back in the late 80s when I went on my first spring break that I remember, this area was no more than a fishing village that happened to have yet-undiscovered clear water and sugar white sand. Destin was where people started going and, over the last 30 years, the scene has spread westward away from what is now the hustling tourist trap that Destin proper has become. If you just travel 20 minutes or so to the right, you'll encounter places with names such as "Watercolor," "Alys," "Inlet Beach," and "Rosemary." Here, you'll find a lot of new money, multi-million dollar homes and multi-billion dollar developments, shops with over-priced fare and restaurants boasting a who's who of up and coming chefs.

The real allure for me, though, is the sincerity of the place. A lot of the locals are just that -- locals. Born and bred, if not right there, then close by. They have a vested interest in the area's success. And a tangible pride for how well it's doing. There's a chill vibe that is simply contagious. No one is in a hurry. There are more bikes than cars on the road at any given time. The people are friendly. It seems like a close-knit community, despite the fact that from March-September, a good majority of folks are just there for a week before returning to their real lives.

Although it's steeped in and replete with wealth, a modest Average Joe, middle-incomer can feel at home. Well, that is until you're reminded of your place on the "haves or have not" scale. This happened to me on our second beach day. We had rented beach chairs for our stay that came with two wooden chairs, a small table, and an umbrella, all lovingly set up prior to our arrival each day by a young, tanned, and seemingly higher-than-the-proverbial-kite dude. These set-ups are spaced maybe three feet apart so you have the opportunity to get to know your neighbors, either outright by speaking and being friendly or, as I prefer, indirectly by slyly spying and observing.

On this day, I noticed my neighbors on either side were displaying extravagant, outward signs of their prosperity. To my left, a young couple, early 30s, enjoyed a day at the beach with their two kids, approximate ages three years and five months old, and their nanny, a young girl in the 18-22 years old category. To my right, an older couple, late 40s-early 50s, with the woman carrying an $1,800 Louis Vuitton purse. On the beach.

I took some time from enjoying watching my child play at the beach to study these two case studies on either side. I made up detailed and interesting back stories for both. I imagined the Nanny family was happy to be on vacation after a long winter of being pregnant and then stuck indoors with a toddler and a newborn. I conjured images of Purse sending their youngest off to college in the fall and settling into their new "empty nest" chapter.

But then my thoughts turned dark. I wondered what Nanny's man did for a living, assuming the wife didn't work if she couldn't be bothered with watching her children while on vacation. I wondered how many other $1k+ purses Purse Lady must have and how this one became the "I don't care - I'm just going to the beach" one.

As I sat there acting as judge and jury on these two parties, it occurred to me I was living a life of excess, too, and I didn't like it. Here I was, seemingly getting away from it all, and I was plagued by envy, an abundance of negative thoughts and opinions, and judgement that surpassed Wopner, Judy and God Almighty. "Who am I," I wondered? "Where do I get off?" And "what business is it of mine what anyone else does?"

No one.
You don't.
None.

And then the real judgement began. "Why aren't you in better shape?" "Why aren't you more tan?" "Why did you choose family over career?" "Why is your hair not pulled back in a sleek pony with an Hermes scarf?"

There it was. An almost unbearable amount of self-doubt. It's a wonder I made it down all those stairs with a load like this. But here's the great thing about a day at the beach: your problems, in whatever form they may come, are absolutely dwarfed by the sea. The ocean is known for its many healing properties, the least of which isn't its ability to remind you how small you, and every woe, is. There's a vast body of water out there that connects to every other body of water on this blue marble on which we live and it was all created by an even bigger God. That's reassuring. There's peace in that. A tangible, soothing peace.

And just like that, I felt my cares lifted, my soul unburdened. And I thought, "Nanny, Purse...we're going to have a good day because, ultimately, we're sisters all formed from the same Father. And we're good enough."