I stared out across the dancing ocean, a translucent sheet of aquamarine living motion.
Detached yet complete.
My thoughts seeming to drift as far as my eyes could see. Without limits. Ephemerally waltzing along the cresting waves, tiptoeing across white-capped rollers, fearless as the damned yet freer than the poor in spirit, shedding that mortal hindrance that housed men’s souls.
The milk-white foam bubbled, gurgled and spat, like a small child brushing their teeth before being tucked into bed. Ivory diamonds glittered on the frothy currents, breaking over glistening rocks, sparkling distractions masking stories untold.
What lies in those hidden depths? What secrets buried in barnacled graves?
I glanced down into the diaphanous tidepool swelling by my feet, the pellucid water clear as crystal. Miniature crabs were locking claws, playing at king of the mountain atop lacey sea anemones while the current tossed them around like paper to the wind.
I sighed – a long and cherished sigh – the sigh of all those who had gone before and all those who would forever follow. It had a weight to it. But a weight that cut, like balancing on the edge of a knife point.
Distant breakers crashed. The salty breeze brought me back to my youth – simpler times, the beat of the surf, call of the tide – golden memories built upon sun, sand and stone.
It had been a while since I had visited the sea. It was good to be back.
It was good to reminisce with you once again old friend.
—
It’s ironic that the closer I am to something, the more I take it for granted.
The ocean has always been this way for me.
When the beach was a 45-minute drive in high school, I’d try to surf every weekend I could. But then in college, when I practically lived on the water, I broke my board and rarely went. I’d see it every day, watch it, study the swells, yet rarely ride the waves that had given me so much joy.
Sad in a way. But telling.
Funny how that works, eh?
Funny how we live our lives.
Wearing the cloak of permanent choices while wrapped in tattered scarves of regretful longings.
—
I slowly stood and brushed the sand from my bare feet, taking in the mesmeric view one last time, just the waves and me, my ritual farewell to the great deeps and a forgotten piece of me.
It was time to leave.
Pondering lurking sea monsters and sibylline shipwrecked treasure would have to wait for another day.
Time to grow up again and play my part.
We were visiting Crystal Cove in Newport Beach, because we had family in town. It was my mom’s 70th birthday and her sister had driven down from Boulder to surprise her and the next day they wanted to visit the ocean.
Originally, I didn’t think I’d be able to join them on a Thursday afternoon.
I had a large presentation carved in stone with my maniacal minion management devotees of insecure overachieving paper pushers, meeting obsessives, productivity slayers. Deadlines that I couldn’t miss, corporate trivialities treated like life and death responsibilities towered over me like ominous mountains of doom.
They called themselves professionals, but they were professional killers. The destroyers of time. Schedule assassins. The cold, calculated, gluttonous murderers of clocks.
However, the bells of fate tolled, and I had a last-minute cancellation that set me free, shattering my invisible chains of obligation like Samson collapsing the pillars of the temple.
I hadn’t been to Newport Beach since my brother had moved all the way across the nation to the East Coast at the beginning of COVID.
For those that don’t know NB, it’s like entering a different world. Foreign cars start to replace the normal models – I think Porsche might be the official vehicle of residence… haha. Don’t get me wrong, I love it there, but money rules the day.
We had a reservation at The Farmhouse in Roger’s Gardens. I had never heard of it before, but it was something on my mother’s punch list that she had always wanted to try – that was my mother for you, always finding unique hidden gems worth exploring.
And I have to say, it was pretty fucking cool.
Think of it like going to a nice restaurant hidden in the middle of a high-end garden nursery. I know, that sounds bizarre, but that’s exactly what it was. Look it up if you don’t believe me. Each sitting spot was done up like a staged outside room adorned with exotic plants and wandering vines.
Good shit. Expensive, but still good shit.
However, as we sat there, enjoying the atmosphere for a rare weekday afternoon lunch, I glanced around and was surprised at what I saw. I mean, I shouldn’t have been, but I was.
It literally felt like I was in the middle of a shoot for the Real House Wives of Orange County. Hahahaha. 90% of the of tables were woman. And they were dressed to the nines. Decked out and ready to be seen.
Mingle.
Socialize.
Chilled wine bottles and colorful cocktails staged lunch table edges like boulevard front window displays.
It was almost kind of creepy. I sat there – T-shirt, shorts, sandals, sunglasses and hat. Granules of beach sand still clinging to my feet from my earlier escapades around the tide pools.
I didn’t feel like I belonged.
But that was fine.
The feeling only lasted a moment and then I was comfortable again.
The internal questions never cease. That’s what we’re constantly doing to ourselves. Having a hidden dialogue within.
Sometimes positive. Often times negative.
Always measuring.
Evaluating.
Comparing.
Questioning if we’re good enough? Do we make the cut? Until we remember once again who we are.
It was surreal to watch so much wealth around me and remember that this is how many people spend their days. While I was locked in a debenture with time, others consumed, ate and lavished in a priceless commodity I still couldn’t wrap my hands around. I didn’t control. I sold to the highest bidder like some prostitute turning tricks on the street corner.
I was still a time whore – pimpin’ out my values to bleed away my grinding days.
I began to wonder if the woman were FI, or if they would be spending their way to the grave, skating across frozen rivers of dollar bills flowing toward the great deeps of bankruptcy. Then again, if you never have to foot the bill, does it even matter how much you spend?
Can you borrow your way through life? Maybe that should be the dream.
Yet, it was interesting to observe how different our lives were. What alternating spectrums our mortal forces resided in.
And this fleeting comparison, as flimsy and outré as it was, brought the ocean back.
My thoughts rolling on the sun-green waves once again, prickled feelings drowning that ever reaching yet distant horizon, under placid waters whispering of black boiling depths.
The sea reminded me, while the salty water stayed the same, it did not control who walked its shores. The ocean meant one thing to me, but something else to so many others.
Arrive in a dark mood and the beauty I was breathing in would transform, funereally shift, as if the sea were turned upside down and littered the shore with its dead.
Funny to think like that. That our eyes don’t really see. They merely reflect our emotions through a blinking portal projected out into our desired mold of the world and its million grinning teeth.
Complexity chiseled down into a finite form.
Wouldn’t it be grand if life were so simple and sure?
Every breath, every step, every decision – already foretold.
The fragile glass of life, unbreakable, everlasting.
Shining from the soul.
Clear as crystal.
-Q-FI
—
When was the last time you found yourself, for the briefest of moments, in a place where you didn’t feel like you belonged? Or have you ever had a relationship with a piece of nature, like me and the sea?
I’ve always thought that it must be terribly expensive to be a lady/gentleman who lunches. But good lord, it must cost a bloody fortune to live that lifestyle in a place like Newport Beach.
Yep. Although images must be maintained and beliefs upheld.
When I was reading your post today I was thinking – speaking of lunches… haha.
Thanks for swinging by FFTP!
Honestly that lunch place sounds like my worst nightmare 🤣
I’ve never thought about a specific element of nature – I just love being outside. It’s pretty much essential for me – too long trapped inside and I go a little crazy… I suppose if I had to pick, it would be mountains. Something about a good hike is totally absorbing and calming.
I’ve often felt out of place but it bothers me way less these days. I do remember one of very early interviews for a popular grad scheme. I felt I had more in common with the caterers and cleaners than any body else there! I guess that’s what happens when you are the first in your entire family to make it to Uni and beyond. Different world stuff.
The design/layout was cool, maybe not the surrounding people so much… haha.
I’m the same, too long inside, and I tend to go a little nuts as well. That’s why I’ve enjoyed WFH so much. When in the office, I’d never take breaks or ever go outside. Now, I can break up my day a little by even just spending 5 minutes here and there outside. The little breaks make a big difference.
Fitting in has also waned for me over the years. I’ll get little moments here and there like at lunch, but mostly just don’t care that much anymore. Yet, I’ll still find myself slipping into a little comparison mode more than I’d like. Gotta keep working on that one.
Thanks for swinging by Michelle!
good one. i like the look of that place and surely would have ordered a bottle of the hartford court chardonnay. if i wasn’t driving too far may have started out with a double espresso and a sazerac to take the edge off. i remember i flew in from nola to l.a. and my younger friend picked me up at lax. i told him i was treating him to drinks at the beverly hills hotel and he told him to ignore the valet and just act like we own the place. it’s not like we were outrageous or obnoxious, just mentoring my boy on ignoring all this pretense. “just direct us to the polo lounge, por favor!”
santa barbara was crazy rich pretentious in many of the same ways. the wait staff and bartenders were more interesting than many of the clientele. i hope you get to the sea a little more often, q.
Hahahaha… I like it. You’re practicing the immersive reading experience, drinks already selected!
That’s a good Beverly Hills Hotel story. And very true, act the part and people tend to leave you alone.
Too bad about SB. That’s one of my favorite cities. Can’t get better than combining the beach and mountains in one locale.
I hope I get to the sea a little more often too….
Thanks as always for the great stories Freddy!
I grew up in New Jersey and left at 18 to go to college in Arizona. I didn’t return for the next 8 years. Things were the same, but different. Things moved on, new stores popped up, but some stayed exactly the same. It was odd, it felt like the world just went on without me. Almost as if I had died and gotten a chance to view the place I once was, completely unaware I even existed. It was humbling.
A few icons stayed the same, while others were gone forever. A pier I took every girlfriend I ever had in high school to on a date was gone, destroyed by hurricane Sandy in one fell swoop and long cleared by salvage crews.
But the train ride from Long Branch to New York was exactly the same scenery, just as I had remembered ever since I was young. One day I went to a train museum in Arizona where there were artifacts from the glory days of railroads in the country. And what did I find? A train ticket from the 1920s for that exact same route. The stations all the same, Little Silver, Red Bank, Middletown, Hazlett…all the way to Rahway, Linden, Elizabeth, Newark, New York. Crazy, looking through time like that. Exactly as I remembered and even older than I thought it was. Across the country and across time, I found this artifact from where I grew up, somehow fate had us both separated in both space and time, and then reunite us like that.
Great story and thanks for sharing Dominic. I’m glad you found that ticket. Sounds like it was meant to be, which of course, can always happen in this life here and there. Haha.
As we age, I think most of us come to realize at some point that the world doesn’t need us. We like to play pretend that we’re each at the center of the universe, but as you say, “it felt like the world just went on without me.” Because it always does. And yes, it can be very humbling when we realize we are merely short term passengers traveling this bumpy road of ups and downs.
Or on occasion, as you discovered with the railroad, some things change very slowly.
Great writing and story.
I’ve experienced that snap into reality or surreality while out somewhere new. You look around and suddenly you’re like whoa where the F am I? I think most people who live in bubbles never even think twice about what kind of life they’re living. When we’re surrounded by people who are all doing and thinking the same thing nothing seems out of place or wrong. Even living here in the Bay Area, heck, California, is living in a bubble. I’ll never forget how it was when I joined the Navy and finally met other people from all over the country that I realized that CA is so different than most places and maybe how lucky I was to grow up in such a diverse melting pot.
Realizing what FI is or can be totally changes the way you see things. You have some great lines describing this in your post. I imagine, yes, you can “borrow your way through life”, there’s probably nothing wrong with it if the money tree keeps blooming. As long as the paychecks keep rolling in life is good. There’s a huge but invisible line between high income and wealth, almost impossible to tell the difference unless you know them personally. I always think that when I’m out camping and see young guys with big new diesels pulling shiny speed boats and new 5th wheels…you would think they’re surgeons or CEO’s but their ages defy what they own. I’d bet money most are in debt up to their ears. FIRE definitely keeps things in perspective and shifts the paradigm of who might be better off.
Thanks Noel. I appreciate the kind words.
Yeah, I agree that living in CA is a bubble in itself. Especially for you and me living in major metropolises like SF and LA, we get used to way more diversity than is normal for this country. It’s always eye opening and humbling when you travel around and get a taste of a different environment.
It’s kind of like once FI is learned, it can’t be unlearned. Hahaha. We’re ruined for the rest of our lives! Ignorance is bliss, right? J/K. But in all seriousness, there’s a lot of truth to “stealth wealth.” Most of our judgements are superficial and surface level, which is simply human nature. I think the other side of that equation, is maybe that person is in debt but you also never know what help they’re getting. I think it’s easy to compare ourselves to others our own age as a benchmark – look at that big house they bought, or those nice cars. Yet, they could have a parent paying for their down payment on a house or for whatever else.
That’s when the comparison game can get real dangerous. I try to remind myself that you never know what a person’s personal situation is, and even if you know them, there still might be a lot that they don’t disclose. Worry about yourself and try to make the best decisions for you own life. That’s really all we can do.
Love the writing in the intro here – excellent indeed. Ah, Newps. I can’t stand that place. Sure, there’s legitimate real wealth there but probably more “credit surfing” than most would imagine. My game in places like the Farmhouse is to try an determine what percentage of the women around me had received plastic surgery and of what sort. Always fun.
Oddly, I was in Newport Harbor nearly every week kayak fishing outside the harbor. It was always surreal to see the zillions of dollars pissed away on instance yachts that were never used. Oh well, to each their own. Anyway, I’ve always said, you’re either a Newport person or an Huntington Beach person.
Thanks Mr. Fate – always high praise coming from you.
You’re probably right on the “credit surfing.” It’s definitely a beach city built on image and who’s who. And yes, plenty of work had been done at the neighboring tables. Haha.
That’s funny you say that, because I’d always surf at Huntington beach growing up. As you know, HB wasn’t so crazy politically back then. All the headlines have changed the place quite a bit. But once my brother moved to NB after college, I spent more time there and it’s grown on me. Not all the yuppy shit, but places like Crystal Cove if you can beat the crowds.
It is wild walking through the harbor and seeing all the boats sitting there. Adult toys that rarely get used. But as you say, to each their own. The trick is to have a friend that owns one and borrow it… hahaha! I haven’t figured that one out yet, but maybe… someday. =)