When you lead a deliberately small and measured life, there is a certain pleasure to be had in the novelty of temporary excess.
How sweet then for this week, to wholeheartedly embrace too much.
Too much food, too much sun, too much sleep, too much saltwater. The internal accountant that usually balks and protests has been silenced and I’ve thrown moderation out the window. In the mornings I do yoga on the lawn, I eat two breakfasts, I nap. I read entire books, spend hours talking. Real life is held at bay, lurking somewhere beyond the immaculate white walls and carefully manicured lawns. An entire army of people work day and night to keep it that way.
Time doesn’t seem to pass here, there are no clocks. Everything is instantly renewed and replaced, drinks are refilled before you realize they are empty, bowls are replenished, every night the beach is tidied and the chairs rearranged into neat rows, your footsteps swept away by the surf like you were never there at all.
The first night, before falling asleep under the lazy whirling drone of my ceiling fan I stepped out onto my balcony, and I saw them emerge into the grassy courtyard like ghosts. Two figures clad head to toe in white protective gear, spraying the lawn, the trees.
This type of insularity, this impression of effortless perfection takes a mind-boggling amount of work to maintain. For them, and for me. It doesn’t come naturally – suppressing the urge to say no, enough, too much.
Just one week, then. A week to let go.