The TEDx curating committee put all of their speakers up at a Courtyard Marriott in Phoenix. Basic amenities, cute little pool, one small bar. And it occurred to me during my three-night stay that sometimes, middle-grade accommodations are the way to go.
The sign at the entrance of the pool noted that there was no lifeguard and that there should be no running or diving. At the bottom were directions for how to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in the case of an accident.
In other words:
Yo dumbasses, this isn’t a five-star resort. We do the best we can with what we have. We are understaffed, and the staff we have is overworked. Use your common sense, and don’t do anything stupid that will endanger your life or anyone else’s. We don’t want to stop what we’re doing inside and have to come out and rescue your sorry ass. Watch your stupid big-mouthed kids yourselves, and don’t let them dive headfirst into the shallow end, as that could result in spinal injury. I mean, if wheelchairs bother you, that is. If you decide to ignore these warnings, and someone’s esophagus closes, here are some suggestions. Good luck, and fuck you.
It was like I had been sent in a time machine back to the 70’s and 80’s, when people were assumed to know how to take care of themselves. Those were good times.
I found the whole property completely charming. The CPR pool sign. The Heineken beer caps wedged between the bricks next to my pool chair. The fuzzy television picture in the breakfast booth where I ate in the morning, which played the Masters’ all day and night. The understocked snack booth that at least had an extensive ice-cold canned beer selection. The barista who made me a free celebratory mimosa the morning after my talk, even though the bar wasn’t officially open yet. And the desk clerk who let me nap all afternoon on Saturday, and didn’t charge me for late checkout.
The morning after my TED talk, I experienced a moment of pure bliss, one of complete peace and happiness. These happen to me often when I am alone, and never when I am with people. Let me tell you about it.
It had been a big night for me, and a late night. The other speakers had all either already flown home, or had left very early that morning, so it was just me. And although I slept in a little later than usual, my excitement woke me early. I threw on my bathing suit and cover-up and made my way to the lobby for some hot coffee. I sat in a breakfast booth and perused the menu while catching up on the Masters’ on my personal breakfast booth television. I sipped my mimosa while waiting for my breakfast burrito, looking forward to seeing my friend Laurie later that day and attending the Journey/Toto concert at the Gila River Arena.
With a full tummy, I grabbed another coffee and made my way to the empty pool. I poured my achy limbs into a pool lounger, the 90-degree sun baking its way into my muscles. I quickly fell asleep. When I woke up, I decided to take a dip in the completely empty pool, and just floated around, finally just resting on the side, facing the sun.
This was my blissful moment. The sun hitting my face, the glorious silence, the cool water, the lovely morning, the night before, the night I had to look forward to. The realization that all of my hard work had paid off to bring me to this specific, beautiful, sun-drenched moment just took my breath away. It was such a delicious moment that when I am feeling overwhelmed, all I have to do is summon memories of this moment, and I feel that bliss all over again.
Just a great moment.