The last few weeks have been really stressful for me. And, who’s harder on me than me? Pretty much no one. Stress and self accountability have been kicking my tail. I talk a lot about finding your happiness but sometimes I really neglect my own.
As I sat on the couch Wednesday night, utterly beat up from the pressures of life, I decided that a beach trip would certainly help my mood. I had jury duty this week so it felt like an impossibility to go but I made reservations for Friday night through Sunday. I had no clue what time I would be able to leave but I told myself that it didn’t matter as long as I was able to wake up next to the ocean. Lucky for me, I was released from jury duty yesterday. I called my friend who was going with me on Friday, and at almost the same time we asked each other if we could just leave after work that afternoon. She was just as eager as me to get away. I called my little motel by the beach and asked if I could add one more night. They had a vacancy and I had a plan!
I left work just a little early so that I could pack my clothes and get everything in order. I’ve packed enough clothes for about a two week stay. My friend, on the other hand, packed light. So light, in fact, that she forgot to pack pants. She said she was so excited about going that she forgot a stack of clothes she had intended to pack on her bed. She has shorts and shirts, mostly some that don’t match. I told her the dolphins and sea gulls wouldn’t care that she was not matching. Of course, we both have a little bit of diva in us and so we plan to make a trip to Walmart so that she can get some pants, preferably some that match.
On our way down yesterday evening, we were near the Florida border on a country, Georgia two lane road. I could see something in the road and I thought perhaps it was a really weird squirrel or maybe a very short (and long) dog. But as I neared the critter, I realized it was a small alligator. He was leisurely walking across the road in front of me while a truck was making its way near him from the opposite direction. I slowed down and veered to the right to give him some room to cross. When I did, I hit those little bumps that make noise to grab your attention when you’re drifting off the road. I’ve never seen an alligator go from a stroll to a high step run so fast in all my life. Truly. I’ve only seen maybe five or six alligators up close. But, when I looked in my side mirror as we passed him, it was almost cartoonish. It looked like he went into 4 by 4 mode and jacked his legs up to stand taller. My friend and I were both laughing about our interesting encounter with Wally Gator. There I was, worried about deer and little did I know I would barely miss the opportunity to explain to my insurance company that I had hit an alligator.
We made it safely down to the little beachside motel, tucked away in a part of Florida that most have forgotten. That’s why they call it the Forgotten Coast. Selfishly, I hope it stays forgotten. But the traffic that I’ve seen through here today definitely makes me think it’s been remembered.
Despite the traffic, I enjoy sitting on our porch at the motel to watch the waves. The sound of the ocean is muted by the mufflers of Harley Davidson motorcycles and the roar of truck engines. But every now and then, I get a break from the traffic and can hear the waves with their rhythmic harmony. There is a special kind of solace that comes with being next to the ocean. Perhaps the ocean waves mimic the beating of my heart and help to bring the beats in sync with the rhythm of the Earth. Perhaps that is what all of our hearts need—a little saltwater reset.
The houses that dot the beach all now look like mansions. They rise two and three, and sometimes four, stories tall. When I was a kid, the houses all varied in size and shape. Some were built one story and on the ground level. Many hurricanes and county building code changes later, the houses that are on the beach must be raised. While I appreciate the importance of safety, I figure if another hurricane comes through like Hurricane Michael, it won’t matter if they are built with solid steel. The wind and the water claims its victims with no regard to county building codes.
Families traverse between populated areas like Panama City Beach and Destin, to this little piece of unspoiled paradise. Bikers especially appreciate the open road that hugs the coastline here. Kids ride by on scooters and bicycles at a steady pace. Though the ocean maintains its rhythm, the land has one of its own as well.
This time of year, there aren’t many tourists. Kids are still in school and parents are counting the days until summer vacation. I’m seeing life as it would be if I moved here. Although the little main road through town is busy, the hum is not unbearable. The shops are open, the work trucks buzz around, and the school buses go on their way. It’s small town life with the added bonus of saltwater and sand.
I know this is where I want to be and where I want to spend the second half of my life. As much as I appreciate the spontaneity of a weekend getaway, reframing my life and my work to move here requires a little more planning. The cost of living is more than rural Georgia. But the wages don’t match the cost of living. That is, unless you’re a realtor or in the construction business. Those businesses seem to be booming at the moment. I need them to not be so booming so that I can afford a house here, especially since I’m not in either field.
Until such time I can make my getaway, these weekend trips will have to suffice. I will support my local friends at the Sand Dollar Cafe where they serve THE BEST shrimp and grits for breakfast. I’ll shop for souvenirs at the Shell Shack and Goin’ Coastal. Oh, and I will take a peek at the latest earrings shipment at Bluewater Outriggers, where most people shop for fishing gear. I will be as ingrained into the local community as best I can until I can get here full time. I’ll fundraise for the South Gulf County Volunteer Fire Department and donate items to the Methodist Care Closet. While I’m here, I will do what I can for the community that I love so dearly. And perhaps one day real soon, I won’t need a spark of spontaneity to be in a place I call home.
Messpot Diaries 