What can explain the curious alchemy of sun, surf and sand?
Experienced separately, these ordinary ingredients seldom inspire flights of fantasy or romance. Yet put them all together and you have The Beach, a state of mind as much as a place, where humans gather in hopes of getting whatever it is they think they want. Oftentimes they get something rather different than what they’d planned, and yet, thanks to the mysterious power of The Beach, many people who arrive loaded with lists, expectations and coolers full of alcohol, depart some days later without any of those things but feeling strangely restored nonetheless.
Our little band of sixteen extended family members spent last week sharing a large house on the Gulf Coast of southern Florida, and, in the first day or so, I had doubts about whether or not the event would prove as relaxing as I’d hoped. For me a vacation represents a chance to ignore the grim and sobering facts that loom so large on the daily menu. At The Beach it’s as if there were a quiet hum of optimism beneath the whispering waves, and, for a limited time, it’s possible to imagine a world where people of all kinds get along in harmony, sharing the Earth’s bounty.
Of course the world is full of real problems and serious issues and not everyone is as adept at ignoring them as I. Thus, in the first day or two of our stay the conversations tended to linger on contentious topics such as politics, the economy, and the scheduling of various personal agendas. I elected to sit out these debates, filling in the idle hours with long walks on the beach, broken up by hours of staring mindlessly at the water. My seemingly endless capacity for staring into space comes in handy at The Beach.
And eventually, even the most driven and focused among our little group ran out of gas and sauntered down to the sand, where the treatment is most effective. This is perfectly normal. We are all of us, in these hyper-active, over-connected, tech-happy times, too wired to shut ourselves off. Even on the beach these days the number of people staring at their iPhones and plugged into their iPods testifies to the addictive power of connectivity. But really? If E.M. Forster were writing now he wouldn’t be urging “Only connect!” but rather the opposite.
And I know it’s hard at first. You think you might miss something. Or somebody. Or, if you’re really lucky, somebody might miss you. But, more likely, the world will get along without you for a week, and even that special someone might survive, and possibly be even gladder to see the new serene you, all smoothed out and centered after a week of communing with The Beach.
Of course, if it rains during your beach week, things can get a little tense. There’s nothing quite like being stuck in a house with a large group of people of widely different ages and tastes with nothing but a television and a deck of cards to see you through. Yet, it’s trials like these that bring out the best in some. You know who you are. Fortunate the family that has a few members who can tell stories, invent amusing activities, and tell jokes without screwing up the punch lines. The important thing is not to give in to despair when the sun disappears for a day or two. You have to trust that it will come back. And keep the cooler stocked.
And after a couple of days you begin to realize that all those plans, those agendas, those serious conversation topics, well, really, they’re a lot like work. And that’s what we came here to get away from, right? It just takes a few days to get into The Beach rhythm: get up, eat, go the beach, drink, repeat.
For chronic worriers, planners, schemers, etc., the challenge of The Beach is to Not. This becomes easier in a place where the temperature at 7 a.m. is 85 degrees, with steam. There’s no percentage in getting worked up in that kind of situation, when mere talking can be too much effort. We find ourselves slipping into an easy reliance on the catch-phrases of the current generation, a mindless shorthand that can cover any conversational gap.
Example: “Do you want to go shopping for dinner?” “Not so much.”
“The kids want to rent kayaks and paddle over to the causeway.” “Just go with it.”
“Is this beer yours?” “It is what it is.”
“Can I get you anything?” “Sex on the beach.” (By this time the kids are out on the kayaks so it’s all good, another all purpose bit of empty verbiage.)
Ah yes. The Beach. We came here for a reason. We can’t remember what it was. But it’s all good.
