Drifting in the Atlantic

Oceans have always provided a sense of serenity to ease the stress from one’s engaging life. One could float on the surface, drifting along with the momentum of gentle waves. The fragile blue seems empty allowing a moment of escape from the rest of the world. But the world hidden in the deep is a vivacious reality filled with schools of fish. A group would waltz around the reefs on the ocean floor, locked in a relentless dance, sifting through the other crowds adjacent to their own. How could people find a way to isolate themselves in such a bustling environment?

I asked this to myself as I tread lightly, drenched in the aroma of overpriced enchiladas. Rays from the setting sun broke through the windows, sparking a twinkle off the water as it cascaded down the wall on the far side of the room. The clash of silverware ferociously tearing away at the night’s special echoed throughout the restaurant, accompanied by the drone of music blaring from speakers along the sidewalks outside. Laughter bellows from a hearty group on the patio, raising their wine glasses in the air. There appeared to be several jokes told that night, for every few minutes one man would bellow out, his face strained by attempting to contain the laughter from escaping his lungs.

The crowd outside did not even bat an eye, only focused on moving forward. Mothers would tug children down the plaza to get to the nearest outfitter store. Children trudged behind, trying to escape the ebb and flow leading to a state of boredom. One child even stopped in the center of the plaza, shrieking as to avoid stepping foot across the threshold into Banana Republic. Tears rolled down his cheeks, trying to catch the attention of every person in vicinity. Some of passing crowds would glance for a moment, but turned back on their own path as soon as the mother furiously spun around. In the middle of the plaza the mother harangued her child, not even considering the silent criticism made by her peers. The child’s eyes widened, frightened and embarrassed by his mother’s reaction.

Yet as the mother scolded her child, my eyes surfed the crowd. Although some chose to ignore those around them, sharks prowled to take a chance and satiate their endeavors. Kiosk merchants littered the plaza, sitting idly to find a group that showed slight interest in their wares. Once someone willing to spend more money than the actual worth of the product, the vendors put on a different mask. Their dull and weary eyes suddenly spark, like a shark that caught scent of injured prey. They jump from their seat and try to find the perfect fit one’s cell phone or the right key chain to go with one’s purse.

The plaza was chaotic, a mixture of blaring music and groups of people talking with all the strength in their diaphragms. Atlantic Station (click for official website) was as lively as the ocean deep in which it shares a name. But during one last scan of my surroundings, I found an older gentleman treading through the restaurant in silence. He slunk from table to table in the restaurant, pushed a cart of assorted sauces and spices accompanied by tortilla chips. Not a single person looked up at him. He only drifted in a slow current, not fazed by the relentless torrent of the world around him. I envied his ability to not get caught up in the intensity of the world around him. The frail man would only stop to place chips and salsa on the table, and then move on, not speaking a single word. Where I found an ocean filled with schools of chattering fish, this man found a place of serenity, not erred by those around him. I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean deep, but this man floated at the surface, above the pandemonium that wreaked havoc below his feet.