My job has brought me back to Miami for a few thoroughly programmed days, putting us up at the extremely swanky 1 Hotel South Beach. It’s a very pretty place, but it’s already giving me distressing flashbacks.
I’m sitting at the bar of the rooftop pool having a mojito, trying to get my thoughts in order. It’s pleasantly cool here, so of course the Miamians are complaining about the cold – it’s 69° – in spite of the volumes of hot air being generated by the herd of aggressively white dudebro sales guys gathered around talking shit.
The ocean’s a lovely slate* color, though, and fairly calm. I am forced to admit that to my surprise, I have missed it. It’s been years since I’ve watched the sun rise over the Atlantic.
Once it was a ritual for me to watch the New Year’s sun rise over the ocean, but that was before I moved to Maryland. Yes, Maryland has a beach, by a loose definition, but it’s not the same. I’m sure one day I’ll head over to one of the rocky coastal shores to watch it, but it won’t be the same.
That’s not altogether bad, though. New places bring new traditions, new rituals, new sources of power. Maryland is older than perpetually adolescent Miami, and finds its force in more primal myths than the glossy glamours of South Beach.
For now, though, I’ll take the pleasure I can in the memories I made in my ages here in the land of perpetual reinvention, and do my best to ignore the many facets that led me to leave.
*Between writing this and taking the photo the sun came out.