Bahamas-Vitamin Sea
Cloud 10
I no longer live on Cloud Nine. I leveled up—from a carbon-fiber bike in Santa Monica to the Disney Magic, the seven seas, and a life measured in ports rather than postcodes.
Environment creates mood. Mood creates momentum.
The west coast gave me the natural high. Castaway Cay gave me the designed high. Life at sea became the sustained version.
The place changed. Then the operating altitude changed with it.
Before the ships, there was the bike.
I used to live on Cloud Nine in the People’s Republic of Santa Monica, riding my carbon-fiber bike 100 miles a day down the Venice Beach strand, through the boat yard of Marina del Rey, and out toward Manhattan Beach.
It gave me an energy, enthusiasm and natural high that begged the question, “What are you on?” I was simply on my bike.
Starbucks, yoga, fresh vegetable and fruit juices, and good sunny weather created fuel for thought. That west coast lifestyle suited me well. It gave me momentum toward a greater something.
Cloud Nine had wheels.
The road created momentum. The sea would give it somewhere to go.
The horizon became an invitation.
Airplanes are like diets: I don’t like being on them. Floatplanes, however—flying boats—are the exception. That summer in Alaska, I got a business-class ticket to cool, with complimentary mojo on takeoff.
That greater something became a move to Cloud 10: sailing the seven seas on cruise ships.
The road did not end at the ocean. It changed vehicles.
Cloud 10 required a ship.
Getting ready to join the Disney Magic on February 8th, I could see the pattern forming. I had managed to sail since 2011 on the Disney Wonder; in 2012 on the Disney Magic; in 2013 on the Disney Magic; in 2014 on the Disney Dream; and now, in 2015, the Magic again.
The vehicle for the next operating altitude.
The ship turned momentum into a way of life.
I no longer live on Cloud Nine. I leveled up.
Castaway Cay’s landing strip is the only thing truly aviational besides the staged authenticity of Disney’s wrecked prop planes.
The island was designed, but the feeling was real. The copy had become better than the original because the experience had been edited with discipline: less friction, more blue, and a clear invitation to be elsewhere.
Cloud 10
Cloud Nine became the runway. The ship became the next altitude.
The island as signal.
Designed paradise became a marker for a life already underway.
The old age of youth. The youth of old age.
Age 40 is the old age of youth. I had eight per cent body fat and a six-pack. I ran the Los Angeles Marathon.
A decade-plus later is the youth of old age—after traveling 45 countries by land, sea, air, foot and bicycle. It is like the unplugged version of Eric Clapton’s Layla. I jog.
5K Run. Just Done It. Swish.
The body keeps a different calendar from the passport.
The unplugged version.
The pace changes. The journey remains.
You start to borrow happiness from tomorrow.
How inappropriate to call this place Planet Earth when it is surely all ocean.
When you sail on a cruise ship around the world, you start to borrow happiness from tomorrow—not because there is anything wrong with it, but because you may never have experiences like these again. Nostalgia, the suffering of remembering the past, becomes part of your future thoughts.
Today is a reminder of why I do it: that blue stuff.
Surely all ocean.
The horizon changes the scale of the self.
That Blue Stuff
The reason for the return, even before the nostalgia arrives.
Santa Monica supplied energy before the ships supplied distance.
The repeated sailings became more than travel. They became continuity.
The experience ends. Its emotional return keeps paying—or charging—interest.
Experience + Distance + Memory = Cloud 10.
Cloud 10 was not a place. It was a change in operating altitude.
The bike created the momentum. The ship enlarged the map. Castaway Cay made the transformation visible.
Santa Monica · Disney Magic · Castaway Cay · The Seven Seas