Billy the bucket boy

Kicking the growth habit

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A beautiful day for the end of the world

Although the next day was Saturday and we could sleep in, I set the alarm for 7 AM. When it went off I could feel the morning was warm but still fresh. I didn’t bother with the weekday snooze protocol; it was our first beach day of the year and we wanted to get there early to beat the crowd. We’d left everything ready the evening before: parasol, sunscreen, beach towel, snorkel, book, hat, sunglasses, and a full camelback in the freezer so we’d have some ice water for when it got hot. While I brushed my teeth, my partner made an oatmeal and banana tortilla so we could have breakfast at the beach, and off we went.

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Photo by Oriol Farré on Unsplash

By 8:30 we were massaging the sand with our toes and having breakfast accompanied by the sound of waves beating against the shore. It was early morning, the beach was still empty, and the water was cool. It was the perfect kickoff to the beach season.

Midway through the morning, a friend we hadn’t seen for a while joined, and we got to talking in that half-naked way that, in any other context, would be considered awkward. We caught up on our trips, gossiped about friends, family, and neighbors, and updated each other on how work’s fine although we’d rather not have to do it.

One topic naturally flowed into the other, and the conversation led to politics. A big election is coming up, and like everywhere else, the word “polarization” is on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Fortunately, it was an amicable conversation. Not that we all thought the same, but we cared enough about each other to understand our different points of view. It was just a few friends sharing how they felt; there was no conflict.

Although we didn’t agree on everything, we did reach a conclusion: everything sucks. People are violently dying, governments are corrupt, billionaires have a chokehold over the working class, and the environment will irremediably collapse. It was a beautiful day for the end of the world.

As age giveth, age also taketh

Maturity comes bearing gifts. Squeaky joints, a receding hairline, insomnia, and colonoscopies are just a few of the pleasures of adulthood. As I settle into middle age, I also realize a slow, creeping feeling of calm. I still haven’t managed to stop pulling my hair and swearing when I don’t know how to use an app on my phone, but in other aspects of my life there is a newly acquired stillness.

A few years ago, the conversation on the beach would’ve riled me up. I would’ve struggled to avoid the urge to vehemently voice my opinion and explain to others why they’re either wrong or not even understanding the problem. There would’ve been conflict.

Now, I felt a sense of freedom. It’s as if the problems of the world are the elephant filling the room with crap, and I’ve gotten so used to the stench of it that I stopped trying to figure out how to shove the pachyderm through the door to get it out. With time, although they worry me, I’ve lost the capacity for earnest indignation about the large structural problems of the world. I think about them, I talk about them, I write about them, but somehow, I’ve also let them go. I’ve lost the sense of repulsion toward the woes of modern civilization. As age giveth, age also taketh.

Barista dreams

Grabbing handfuls of sand and seeing it slip through my fingers, I stared at the sea and heard the conversation continue without me. As I sat there in silence enjoying the breeze and working on my tan, my mind wandered, landing on my obsession du jour: espresso machines. I enjoy a good cup of coffee. Whether an Italian-style espresso, a watered-down Americano, a frothy cappuccino, or a gentrifying flat white, I’m a fan of the sable bean that makes the world turn.

Being the enthusiast I am, I have an espresso machine at home. I bought it to avoid spending a small—make it large—fortune at one of the many “specialty” coffee shops that have popped up in the neighborhood over the last few years. However, I wasn’t sure how much better it’d be than my faithful Italian moka pot, so I bought the most modest espresso machine I could get. After a couple of years, the verdict is in: if you feel the same way about coffee as I do, spending your bonus on an espresso machine is a sound investment.

However, you might want to avoid buying the cheapest one. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it won’t work as a surrogate for the hidden dream you might have of opening a café and spending the rest of your days as the cool, laid-back neighborhood barista who gives customers sage advice as they drink your magic potions. Among other issues, the cheaper machines leak, don’t have the right pressure, and don’t serve a consistent shot. Although it’s better than the moka pot, there’s still room for improvement. Thus, I’m considering moving into mid-range territory and buying a new and better machine.

Sail ho!

There I sat, staring at the sea, pondering the pros and cons of the different models I’d obsessively procrastinated over the last few weeks, as my partner and her friend chatted behind me, and pang! A sudden sense of disgust hit me when I saw a yacht coming in from the horizon. It looked like a 50-footer that was probably worth a few million. It gave me the chills. You see, I had read Jason Anthony’ Quieting the Anthropocene Seas the week before, where he discusses noise pollution in the open water. When I saw that boat, all I could imagine were all the fish below covering their little ears with their fins—to all the marine biologists reading, I don’t care if that’s anatomically incorrect, that’s the image I had, and I’m sticking to it.

The sight made the entire conversation about the state of the world suddenly hit me. I’m pretty sure that, whoever owned that boat, it wasn’t their first. I imagined it was a guy who made his first million selling the toaster oven app he developed when he still lived with his parents. At the time, he thought it was all the money in the world, and he started off with a single-engine inflatable to go fishing on the weekends. As time went by and the million he invested paid off, he wanted more and got himself a cabin cruiser. After his second divorce, he wanted to entice a third wife half his age and made the upgrade to the beast of a yacht he’s sailing on now, giving all the sardines in the Mediterranean a bad case of tinnitus.

That seems to be who we are right now. We can’t settle. We’re never satisfied. Some need to get a bigger boat, others want a newer phone, and a few of us fancy a swankier espresso machine. We want bigger, better, faster, fancier. We call this process of getting more “growth,” and it’s what leads to progress. Without it, we’re either stuck or we’re losers. We’re unfulfilled. Even though we know it’s a trap, because we can always have more, which means we’ll never be fulfilled.

Kicking the habit

That’s why that pang of disgust hit me when I saw that piece of floating luxury sailing towards me. I could see myself in it. Our preference for growth is at the core of all the problems we face and had been discussing that morning on the beach.

The situation could have made me feel hopeless, but throughout the entire time we were talking, a child a few feet ahead of us was playing with a toy bucket and plastic shovel. For about an hour, he would fill the bucket with sand, walk toward the water, and throw the sand at the incoming wave, hysterically laughing with joy every single time. He didn’t stop until his dad called out:

— Billy, it’s time to go home for lunch.

They packed up and grabbed him by the hand. He was the happiest person in the world as he waved goodbye to the sea and walked away with his mom and dad.

That’s what gave me some relief. We want more out of habit, but just like Billy the bucket boy, we don’t actually need that much to be happy. If we tap into that, maybe we can sort out some of the crap we got ourselves into.

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