EPTWhen I was 13, or thereabouts, I had the somewhat good fortune of spending a week's vacation on a Carnival Cruise ship. It's somewhat difficult to describe that week. For an adult, I imagine a Carnival Cruise isn't all that different from spending a week on a floating Atlantic City. But for 13 year old me, it was an entirely new world. They had a nightclub for teenagers, and my own credit card to swipe for drinks! And what providence! Defying any conceivable odds, an acquaintance from home, 3000 miles away in blustery New Jersey, appeared at the first "Kids Club" meeting. Fast friends, we spent that week as two independent men living the fast life. Supervision? How suburban, you landlubbers. Soda, french fries and swimming whenever we wanted, now that was our motto! We were even talking to girls! Life was good.
Then, almost like it had never even happened, it was over. I was back in New Jersey. I spent days depressed, outwardly the same but abjectly miserable inside. The freedom and excitement of that week was an ambrosia I'd drunk deep, and like any junkie, I was having withdrawal symptoms. I had tasted greatness. How could I go back to a mediocre life when somewhere, cutting through the ocean, was a Carnival Cruise ship with people having the time of their life? Turns out the "how" of it was pretty simple, as there aren't many viable avenues for a 13 year old to get to live on a Carnival Cruise ship. Sometimes, the fates conspire against us.
Ultimately,that sense of loss evolved into one of validation. Validation that I'd put myself out there and had a great experience, and it was precisely because I cared so much that any of it had really meant anything. Years later, when I think about that week, I can no longer remember what it really felt like in those days after that cruise, to be so sad about it. But I remember every bit of how it felt, standing on the prow of that boat, tearing across the vast ocean like I owned the place.
