I live in the heart of a bustling part of Miami, amid the endless rhythm of footsteps, the symphony of honking horns, and endless traffic. I run a small but busy process service and private investigation agency. I have an 11-year-old daughter and a 14-year-old daughter who will both turn 30 and 33 respectively on their next birthday. They both constantly look at me with amazement that I was able to live my whole life without them to explain things to me. My wife has her own routine that I am not really a part of. I seem to be an NPC in her video game. I make sure the bills are paid and that they have what they need to live so that they don’t drug me and harvest my organs for money. I don’t complain because I know the primary rule of love when it comes to a man. Women and children are loved unconditionally and men are loved with conditions. In this new world of remote work, I work from a home office attached to my house. I spend my days alone within the confines of a nondescript office, navigating the intricacies of background checks, locating witnesses for statements, and coordinating process servers with the precision of a seasoned sailor charting his course. However, I don’t know many sailors who wear dress shirts, ties, and a coat while also wearing boxers and flip-flops because those lower body parts are off-camera.
From Monday morning’s coffee-fueled rush to Friday afternoon’s sigh of relief, my life follows a predictable cadence, each day blending seamlessly into the next amidst the fluorescent glow of computer screens and the muted hum of music or the TV playing in the background. Yet, despite the comfort of routine and the familiarity of my surroundings, I find myself yearning for something more, a whisper of longing that echoes through the corridors of my mind like the distant call of a siren at sea.
For amidst the monotony of emails, meetings, and researching one crazy thing or another, my thoughts drift towards the shimmering expanse of the open sea, where the wind dances upon the waves and the horizon stretches out endlessly before me. In the quiet moments between background checks, client calls, and emails, I close my eyes and let my mind wander, envisioning myself at the helm of my small sailboat, tiller in one hand and a mainsail sheet in another, the salty spray of the ocean breeze upon my weathering face and the rhythmic creak of the sails lulling me into a state of tranquil bliss.
In those fleeting moments of reverie, I am no longer just another cog in the monolithic legal system carving out my tiny piece of the pie, but a solitary sailor navigating the vast expanse of the sea with nothing but my dreams to guide me and sailing in the opposite direction of my current life as a course heading. With each stroke of the keyboard and every glance at the clock, I count down the minutes until I can escape the confines of my office and set sail upon the shimmering waters of Biscayne Bay, the Keys, or 10,000 Islands in SW Florida.
For in the heart of every dreamer lies the spirit of adventure, a flame that flickers defiantly even in the face of the most daunting obstacles or the self-imposed confines of responsibilities to work and family. And though I may spend my days confined alone to the four walls of my office, my soul remains forever anchored to the sea, forever yearning for the day when I would change my cellphone number, close my business, and set sail upon the boundless Florida horizon and beyond.
