Finding beauty in the small things, and remembering how
to do nothing.
Key West has a reputation.
Bright colors. Crowded bars. Roosters with absolutely no
regard for the hour. Music spilling into the streets, frozen cocktails, and a
general understanding that good behavior is somewhat optional.
And there is certainly a place for all of that.
But somewhere beneath the noise, the color, and the cheerful
commotion is another Key West. A quieter one. A place of salt air, shifting
light, weathered wood, and small, beautiful things that ask for very little
attention.
That was the Key West I went looking for.
Vacation arrivals
We arrived at our friend’s home in the lower Keys to find
ourselves surrounded by palms, water, and the sort of beautiful stillness that
immediately makes you think you should feel relaxed.
But everyone understands when I say, should is the operative
word.
Arriving on vacation and actually being on vacation
are two different things.
Before leaving home, we spend days, no, weeks, making
arrangements to disappear for a little while. Work needs to be squared away,
assigned to others while you’re gone. The house needs cleaning and organizing. Clothes
need ironing and bags need to be packed. Every little responsibility must be
tucked neatly away so we can enjoy the luxury of having absolutely nothing to
do.
Which, when you think about it, is an extraordinary amount
of work to do, in order to do nothing.
Anxiety builds, and then we arrive.
The scenery has changed, but our minds haven't yet caught
up.
Over conversations with our traveling companions during the
week, we discovered that nearly everyone felt the same way. It takes time to
settle into a vacation. Sometimes days.
I wondered why.
We’re so accustomed to filling our hours that an empty
afternoon feels unfamiliar. Maybe relaxation isn’t about having nothing to do.
It’s convincing ourselves to believe finally there's nothing we need to
do.
And if you find yourself in the Keys, hopefully somewhere
along the way, something in you changes.
I hope you find yourself sitting a little longer. Looking at
the water without checking the time. I hope someone catches you smiling for no
particular reason.
Because that, is when the vacation really begins.
The things we almost miss
In the Keys, you may see blue crabs moving across the pale
sand, palm fronds rustling overhead, and water that seems to change color with
every passing hour.
These are small things. Nothing particularly monumental.
And yet I found them endlessly interesting.
There is something wonderful about watching a little crab go
about his business as though he owns the shoreline. Or noticing the peculiar
shape of a stone. Or the intricate patterns sunlight makes as it moves across
shallow water.
None of these things would appear on a list of Key West's
top ten attractions.
They don't require reservations, comfortable walking shoes,
or a credit card.
They simply exist, whether we notice them or not.
I think this is one of the loveliest gifts of being
somewhere unfamiliar. We begin paying attention again.
At home, we can walk past the same beautiful things every
day without giving them a second glance. Our surroundings become so familiar
that we stop seeing them.
But somewhere new, even a weathered doorway or a cluster of
tropical leaves becomes interesting.
We remember what it feels like to be curious.
A different sort of luxury
We were fortunate to stay in a magnificent home on the
water, beautifully appointed and surrounded by an extraordinary view.
There was no shortage of luxury.
But what I found myself appreciating most often wasn't
necessarily anything inside the house.
It was the breeze.
The sound of water moving along the shoreline.
The changing light in the morning.
Watching pelicans dive for fish.
The chance to sit quietly, with a cup of coffee, and watch
the day begin without needing to hurry it along.
It's a curious thing, isn't it? We can surround ourselves
with every imaginable comfort and still discover that what feels most luxurious
is time.
Time without an agenda. Time to enjoy a conversation that
wanders from one subject to another. Time to notice that the afternoon light
has softened and the palms have begun casting long shadows.
Time that doesn't need to produce anything.
The last light
And then there were the sunsets.
Key West certainly knows how to make an occasion of the end
of the day. People gather, cameras are raised, boats drift toward the horizon,
and everyone turns to watch the sun make its departure.
But I’m not interested in the spectacle.
I’m most interested in the quiet that follows.
That moment when the last light slips away and, for just a
little while, nobody seems quite ready to speak.
The sky continues changing. The water holds a few remaining
sparkles of light. The day, with everything it contained, colorfully and
serenely comes to an end.
At this moment I feel deep gratitude.
But there is no grand lesson to learn here or need to make
the moment mean more than it is.
Just gratitude for having the privilege of been there to see
it.
Bringing the quiet home
Sadly, vacations end.
The suitcases get unpacked and the laundry gets done. Our
calendars fill again, and all the familiar responsibilities of everyday life rush
back in.
I know that ordinary life cannot feel like an afternoon in
the Keys.
But I wonder whether we can bring a little of that
attentiveness home with us.
For me, it may look like sitting outside with my morning
coffee instead of carrying it directly to my home office. Maybe it’s taking a
different route on our evening walk. Definitely, it’s noticing the
late-afternoon sun through our window as it falls across the kitchen table.
We should also allow ourselves a quiet moment without
immediately deciding how it ought to be used.
I came to the Keys expecting beautiful water, warm sunshine,
wonderful food, and time with people we love.
But I also found myself remembering this. Beauty doesn't
always announce itself. Sometimes we must be still enough to notice.
And that, wherever we happen to be, is something worth
bringing to the table.
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