“I’m here for business,” I answered the cab driver on the way from the airport. It was true. I had just arrived at Sarasota, Florida to watch the final presentations from Ringling College of Art & Design students for GOOD Design Sarasota (more on that soon). I would be there for a little over 24 hours and I had a lot of work to do. But with every moment I was there it became increasingly difficult. If you come to Florida for business, slowly, Florida convinces you otherwise.
Maybe because it was the place where we took our mythical spring breaks when I was a kid, but Florida still holds this incredible exoticism for me. The water water everywhere, the white white beaches, that fuzzy humidity that wraps around you like a wet beach towel and muffles out the rest of the world.
I kept getting distracted by the fact that I was quite literally walking on seashells, all the time.
And looking above my head where the trees were dripping with moss.
And peeking down oozy mysterious backwaters that serve as freeways for pelicans.
How can one work in the presence of so many pastels, really? A place where pink and green is the most widely-accepted color combination is not a place for business. Neither is a place populated by lightly-sunburned people in untucked golf shirts and gauzy tent-like sundresses shuffling lazily on sand-dusted sidewalks.
They practically pour mojitos with fresh sugar cane down your throat, you know. And everyone, after a certain time of evening, is pretty much required by city code to maintain an ice cream cone.
So I gave up. I put on a flowy dress and tucked a pink hibiscus into my hair. And like everyone else in Sarasota, it seemed—whether they were there for business or pleasure—walked to the beach to see the sunset.
Florida wins.
