This is Part 4 of the “Wanna live in The Virgin Islands” series.
If you didn’t catch the first two, here are your links.
You ever have one of those trips that change your life? I did.
When I was 24 years old I came here, and right then I decided I would live here, and quit living the way I was. I looked out at this blue sea, and decided that life was not as hard as I was making it. I got home after those 10 days, and cleaned house.
I divorced the man I was with. I moved to Chicago from central Illinois. I went to work and came home everyday for 9 months. Stopping only for groceries and the occasional mani and pedi, a girl’s gotta take care of her feet.
I didn’t have cable. I didn’t have any distractions. I wrote and learned about who I was, who I wanted to be, and then I learned how powerful I was. In just months I changed my entire life. I found friends and lovers worth my time. It would take over a decade more for me to leap here, but here I am.
I’ve noticed the people that have moved here by choice are the ones that can’t be anything but themselves. THEY. JUST. CAN’T. I’ve found so many “real” people. They don’t do things because they feel obligated, they do things because they want to. Maybe that is who you have to be to move to the middle of the ocean on a rock. They have just said “Fuck the Jones’, I am moving to an island”. And I think a T-Shirt was just born.
You’re just accepted here. I am not saying everyone will love you always, but I can tell you this, in all my writing I have only had one negative review, and it wasn’t even that bad, she said I “looked like a whore”, which historically “whores” aren’t ugly, so it actually was a compliment.
I’ve always been quite liberal with the FUCK BOMB, you’re welcome.
People just let people be for the most part. As long as you say “Good morning”, “Good Afternoon”, or “Good night” at the proper times, and don’t wear your bathing suit in public areas I’ve found that you can basically be whomever you want. Vulnerability welcome.
Don’t fuck up the greetings.
Don’t You Get Bored?
Well, there is such a thing as island fever, at a certain point you want to get off this rock, especially if they came from somewhere busy like I did. I mean, even if the rat gets free, she craves the race every now and again.
When I get off the plane I remember why I ran. Everyone is in a hurry. Even when they aren’t gonna miss their flight. I think it’s America’s grand expression of cardio. Everything seems very crazy and organized at the same time, and I always forget that I don’t have ADD.
Then there is retail. Here we have Kmart, we actually have TWO Kmarts. I have commonly referred my home style as “Kmart Couture”, I have done more with Kmart furnishings than I ever thought possible. Here I spent the better part of my young adult life making sure that I didn’t have to shop at Kmart, only to end up in a place where I only could shop at Kmart, irony at it’s finest. All of our household items come from Kmart, Pricemart, or CostuLess. Sure, there are a few other places, but those are the big choices.
We all have the same pots and pans, same coffee makers, same everything. So when I get into the BIG WORLD of RETAIL, I have every intention of going apeshit, ummmmm, TARGET, hello? But what really happens is I get in there, and get completely overwhelmed, I even started crying and yelled at my mom once. Sorry Mom.
Around here, you find your own way with what is available, you look for what you need, and make do with what you have, and I believe it is a more simple way to live, when everything isn’t at your fingertips, you appreciate what you have.
That’s living, to be grateful for the things you have today.
I think there is a man living in the dumpster closest to my home. I’ve seen him standing in the dumpster for the last five days, I haven’t stopped to ask him what is going on yet, but it appears that he is there at all times of the day, he has placed anything worth taking on the ledge of the dumpster in a retail like fashion. He is merchandising the garbage. It was just a drive by, but I spotted some cute tennies and what looked to be a pretty nice pitcher.
Am I shocked that someone may or may not be living in the dumpster? Not really. I guess this place does that for you, it makes you indifferent to what otherwise would be “really fucked up”. I think back to my first apartment and what I might have done if there was a man living in my dumpster, I probably would have called the police, now, I just want to stop by and ask him if he needs anything.
If it is not a man living in a dumpster, it is something else “weird”. Brilliant weird, like a full bar at the carwash, I mean, come on? How fucking fabulous is this? Or restaurants just up and closing for a month or so? Why not? Why does having a business have to eliminate all external life?
Living here, really living. . .
Check out the rest of this series :