The Art of Doing Less
A lazy beach weekend reminded me that life's greatest luxury is simply being alive
In our society, leisure can feel like a guilty pleasure. Something that requires justification and requests that we still be productive in some way with that free time, like exercising or finishing a book or sightseeing.
This was not the case recently for me, on a long weekend in Crescent Beach, Florida. I was reminded how much I love lazy beach weekends when all there is to do is sleep in, snack, walk on the beach, and talk. The truest definition of leisure to me, is to do the least.
I appreciate a more active vacation, but the utter floppiness of the beach forces one to embrace a certain level of “island time”—that is, waking up late, finding lunch in the late afternoon, enjoying sunsets, and taking walks at dusk along the darkening beach. Staying up late to watch movies and laugh together.
moments of awe and catharsis while slowing down to the rhythm of the beach are important to honor and savor.
I went with two friends—Blair and Stacey. The three of us have been a close triad since middle school, and have all followed very different paths since then. Yet we’ve all arrived at early midlife with similar views and conclusions about the ways of the world, about topics like death, monogamy, and capitalism. We discussed these topics in between playing with tarot cards and practicing breathwork together.
It was a catharsis for my soul to reconnect with two beings whom I have always loved deeply—despite our having made vastly different choices, pursued different goals in life, and not been constantly in touch. When you’ve known someone for over 30 years, you have the context to understand them more fully than someone you’ve just met. Enduring friendships are one of life’s special gifts.
Plus, Crescent Beach is an ideal setting for such a reunion.
I grew up going there with my family because it’s relatively undeveloped and a short drive into St. Augustine, Florida’s version of a renaissance town. My friend’s family bought a condo in Crescent Beach in the late ’90s, not far from where my family usually stays. It hasn’t been significantly updated, so in a similar way, its decor and furnishings felt familiar and comfortable.
With little on our agenda, we made trips to town for tacos and chocolate and plants. Southern Horticulture is perhaps St. Augustine’s best plant nursery and garden store. Friends of my parents have co-owned it for many years. I let myself get lost in its rows of outdoor plants and shrubs, reading the many handwritten placards explaining plant species, bloom cycles, and soil/water preferences.
The marquee sign had two messages posted, both written in Spanish, thanking a team member for his many years of service. A subtle reminder that progressive, democratic inclusivity is alive, even in Florida’s conservative bible belt—of which St. John’s County is a part.
Back at the Bella Mar condos, I tried a solitary barefoot run on the beach, which is a totally different experience from running in sneakers on pavement. Several of my toes developed dark blood blisters from friction with the sand, but the residual soreness in my arches told me I was using muscles and tendons I’d forgotten about.
Each evening we watched the sunset over the intracoastal side of Crescent Beach and once the sun was down, ventured out to the beach. A vast graphite sky would slowly darken. Heat lightning in the distance and a clear bright moon illuminated the wide, low-tide beach while we discussed animals, mutual friends, our families, our careers, and pondered the future.
The do-nothing beach weekend is a reminder that life is beautiful. Life is simple.
There’s something epic and awe-inspiring about coastlines. The demarcation between land and sea, human life and marine life intersecting at sandy beaches and native dunes full of birds, tortoises, snakes, and butterflies. During the day there’s bright sunlight and strong gusts of windshear—extremes that made me feel viscerally alive in a way I haven’t experienced in a while.
Florida’s Gulf Coast is subdued and the water is warm. Its Atlantic Coast is entirely different. It’s wild and windy, whipping up waves for good surfing and paddleboarding. The water is cool and refreshing, and more chaotic like the Pacific with powerful rip currents. I felt infinitesimal thinking about the 3,000 miles of open and expansive North Atlantic Ocean that only concludes at the deserted coasts of Western Sahara and Morocco.
These moments of awe, of soulful catharsis, and of slowing down to the rhythm of beach life are important to honor and savor. Most of the time, we’re running from duty to duty, scheduling our lives for maximum efficiency, dealing with work, family, and errands.
Going to the beach, even for a short stint, puts a pin in that quotidien chaos and allows one to just be alive. To be a grain of sand on the beach and a tiny mammal dipping into the sea, not a device in sight.
The do-nothing beach weekend is a reminder that life is beautiful. Life is simple. All that we can do is notice and be grateful for our blessings, including the incredible people in our sphere. How lucky we are to be alive in this world.
I’m grateful to have had the time and the setting to reconnect with my friends, the space to unwind and be slow. It was a blissful three days of doing the least, in a world that says we should always be doing the most.
