life is like a race essay

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Do things at your own pace. life's not a race - quote and reflection.

DO THINGS AT YOUR OWN PACE: LIFE'S NOT A RACE

In today's fast-paced world, it is easy to get caught up in the rat race, constantly striving to achieve more, accomplish goals, and keep up with others. However, in this pursuit, we often forget the significance of moving at our own pace. Life is not a race, but a journey of self-discovery and growth. In this article, we will explore the importance of embracing your own pace, the benefits it brings, and practical ways to do so.

If you want to see 37 Quotes That Will Inspire You to Overcome Challenges click here

Understanding the Pressure to Keep Up

In a society that values productivity and competition, there is immense pressure to keep up with the expectations of others. The fear of falling behind and the desire to succeed can lead to burnout, anxiety, and dissatisfaction. It's essential to recognize that each individual has a unique path to follow, and comparing oneself to others can be detrimental to personal growth.

Embracing the Journey of Self-Discovery

Instead of focusing solely on the destination, it is vital to appreciate the journey of self-discovery. Life presents numerous opportunities for learning and personal development, and each experience contributes to our growth. Embracing your own pace allows you to savor these moments, helping you gain a deeper understanding of yourself and the world around you.

The Benefits of Moving at Your Own Pace

a. Improved Mental Well-Being: By avoiding the constant pressure to keep up with others, you can reduce stress and anxiety. Embracing your own pace allows for a more relaxed and content mindset.

b. Enhanced Productivity: Surprisingly, moving at your own pace can enhance productivity. When you focus on what truly matters to you, you can prioritize tasks and work more efficiently.

c. Fulfillment and Satisfaction: By setting realistic goals and achieving them at your own pace, you'll experience a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment.

Overcoming External Expectations

Society often imposes expectations on us, such as getting a high-paying job, starting a family, or achieving specific milestones by a certain age. However, it's crucial to remember that these expectations might not align with your unique desires and aspirations. Learning to overcome external pressures and defining your own path is essential in living a fulfilling life.

Cultivating Self-Compassion

As you embrace your own pace, it's essential to practice self-compassion. Be kind to yourself and recognize that it's okay to face challenges and setbacks. Treat yourself with the same level of understanding and support that you would offer to a friend. Self-compassion fosters resilience and allows you to bounce back stronger after difficulties.

Setting Realistic Goals

Setting realistic goals is a key component of living life at your own pace. Break down your ambitions into smaller, achievable steps, and celebrate each milestone along the way. This approach will help you stay motivated and prevent feelings of overwhelm.

Learning to Say No

In a fast-paced world, it's easy to get caught up in numerous commitments. However, it's important to remember that you can't do everything, nor should you. Learning to say no to activities or responsibilities that don't align with your priorities is essential in creating a balanced and fulfilling life.

Seeking Support from Like-Minded Individuals

Surrounding yourself with like-minded individuals who appreciate the concept of living life at their own pace can provide invaluable support. Joining communities or support groups focused on personal growth and self-discovery can be uplifting and empowering.

Things get easier when you realize life is not a race!

To sum up, embracing your own pace is a transformative approach to life. Recognize that life is not a race but a beautiful journey filled with experiences, growth, and self-discovery. By understanding the significance of moving at your own speed, you can experience improved mental well-being, enhanced productivity, and a deeper sense of fulfillment. Let go of external expectations, set realistic goals, and cultivate self-compassion as you embark on this liberating journey. Remember, life is meant to be savored, not rushed. So, take a step back, breathe, and embrace the beauty of living life on your terms.

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Doing Race: 21 Essays for the 21st Century

Doing Race focuses on race and ethnicity in everyday life: what they are, how they work, and why they matter. Going to school and work, renting an apartment or buying a house, watching television, voting, listening to music, reading books and newspapers, attending religious services, and going to the doctor are all everyday activities that are influenced by assumptions about who counts, whom to trust, whom to care about, whom to include, and why. Race and ethnicity are powerful precisely because they organize modern society and play a large role in fueling violence around the globe. Doing Race is targeted to undergraduates; it begins with an introductory essay and includes original essays by well-known scholars. Drawing on the latest science and scholarship, the collected essays emphasize that race and ethnicity are not things that people or groups have or are, but rather sets of actions that people do. Doing Race provides compelling evidence that we are not yet in a “post-race” world and that race and ethnicity matter for everyone. Since race and ethnicity are the products of human actions, we can do them differently. Like studying the human genome or the laws of economics, understanding race and ethnicity is a necessary part of a twenty first century education.

About the Author

PAULA M. L. MOYA, is the Danily C. and Laura Louise Bell Professor of the Humanities and Professor of English at Stanford University. She is the Burton J. and Deedee McMurtry University Fellow in Undergraduate Education and a 2019-20 Fellow at the Center for the Study of Behavioral Sciences.

Moya’s teaching and research focus on twentieth-century and early twenty-first century literary studies, feminist theory, critical theory, narrative theory, American cultural studies, interdisciplinary approaches to race and ethnicity, and Chicanx and U.S. Latinx studies.

She is the author of  The Social Imperative: Race, Close Reading, and Contemporary Literary Criticism  (Stanford UP 2016) and  Learning From Experience: Minority Identities, Multicultural Struggles  (UC Press 2002) and has co-edited three collections of original essays,  Doing Race: 21 Essays for the 21st Century  (W.W. Norton, Inc. 2010),  Identity Politics Reconsidered  (Palgrave 2006) and  Reclaiming Identity: Realist Theory and the Predicament of Postmodernism  (UC Press 2000). 

Previously Moya served as the Director of the Program of Modern Thought and Literature, Vice Chair of the Department of English, Director of the Research Institute of Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity, and also the Director of the Undergraduate Program of the Center for Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity. 

She is a recipient of the Dean’s Award for Distinguished Teaching, a Ford Foundation postdoctoral fellowship, the Outstanding Chicana/o Faculty Member award. She has been a Brown Faculty Fellow, a Clayman Institute Fellow, a CCSRE Faculty Research Fellow, and a Clayman Beyond Bias Fellow. 

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“Happiness is the absence of striving for happiness.”  ~Chuang Tzu

At an early age I learned that nothing in life is guaranteed. When I was eleven years old, a close friend and classmate lost his battle with cancer. After that, I had several more instances of losing loved ones , some expected, others not so much.

After having gone through so much loss at such an early age, my outlook on life was one word: rushed .

I wanted to get through college as fast as I could, while taking on as much as I could. I wanted to have meaningful relationships and foster my athletic abilities. I wanted to get out into the real world and have a great job where I felt like I mattered, and made a difference .

I had graduated college a semester early, and I was blindsided by how seemingly cold the real world was and by the fact that I had all of these dreams with little to no understanding as to how they were going to come to fruition— as fast as possible .

After all, time was of the essence because I could die tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that… (What twenty-something year olds think like that?)

With the economy on the decline, I was only able to find a job at a nearby hospital as a transportation aide. This basically entailed bringing patients to and from their appointments within the hospital.

While I did enjoy certain aspects of this job, such as trying to make each and every person I transported smile during their otherwise not-so-great day, the attitudes of fellow hospital staff left me feeling worthless, as I was mocked by physicians and nurses for no other reason than my job title.

As months crept on, I became seriously devastated at the thought of my future success being delayed any further. It was hard to feel like success was on the horizon when those who were supposed to be my “teammates” were treating me so poorly.  I was genuinely distraught over the uncertainty of what tomorrow was going to bring.

I tried my very best to trudge on, with the sole thought and hope that “surely another career wouldn’t be like this, right?”

About six months later I was offered a different job. It wasn’t exactly like my previous one, but left me feeling once again like I was on another rollercoaster ride, this time with a healthcare consulting company.

When I was offered this position that would have me relocating to Pennsylvania, I packed my bags as quickly as I could. I seized the moment , not knowing when another opportunity would present itself.

In this position I had effectively transitioned from a job that required direct interaction with patients, to a role that was focused on how hospitals and medical groups financially managed themselves.

While my previous critics during my time as a transportation aide would have deemed this job title more favorable, this consulting position did not leave me feeling any better at the end of the day.   

Now, I was boots-on-the-ground implementing change within an organization, with one major problem: my boss was one of the most despised people at the hospital.

This left me putting out fires at every turn, and put me in a position where I felt forced to back certain causes I didn’t truly believe in because I was told to “step up, or step out,” by the management within the consulting company.

During this time, I was spending ten to twelve hours a day at work, getting nothing more in return than feeling emotionally and mentally drained at the day’s end.

While I did have a small group of friends in the area, I wasn’t close to any of them, as this group of individuals primarily focused on surface-level relationships and drinking.

To fill any remaining time I had available to me, I began training for an Olympic distance triathlon.

More or less, I threw all of the things that I felt I needed to achieve to feel happy in life up in the air, hoping at least one would catch, but none of them did.

My failure in this approach was that I was running—not just in a “hey, I’m training for an Olympic distance triathlon” kind of way, but in an “oh-my-gosh, I’m terrified to leave any amount of time free because if I truly take a step back and look at my life, I will realize how unhappy I am and how unimportant all of this is” kind of way.

I was cramming my days so full in an attempt to truly experience the world like my other friends and family members never had the chance to, and in doing this, I wasn’t actually experiencing anything at all.

I didn’t know who I was , and I most certainly didn’t know what I wanted.

Fast forward a year and a half and here I am, now located in Boise, Idaho, where I have relinquished “striving for happiness,” because happiness is not something you strive for.

When I moved to Idaho for another job opportunity, I decided not to fill all my downtime like I had in the past.

At first, I felt truly and utterly alone. Things were quiet, and it became apparent that in trying to experience everything around me and check items off of my bucket list, I had neglected to cope with several past experiences.

The loss of loved ones, the ending of relationships, and past decisions that did not suit me all haunted me in my downtime.

Through counseling and deep self-reflection over the past several months, I have been able to resolve many of these feelings and have learned, among other things, that happiness is something that already lies within us.

It is a personal choice, however, whether or not we allow ourselves to feel it.

I believe happiness is choosing to let go of those situations and people who do not suit us personally. It is living in the moment, rather than, in my case, living in fear that the moment is going to be over before I’m ready.

It is here that I have allowed myself to only invest time in what truly interests and suits me, rather than what I feel obligated to achieve.

I have made time to enjoy exercising, to cherish my family and friends, to read and write, and to enjoy the simplicity of life rather than stress over all of life’s complexities. In realizing how much I have missed while running from my past and planning far into the future, I have become truly present.

We all have the ability to enjoy our lives, but it can’t happen if we’re racing toward the future. If we want to be happy, we have to choose to create happiness now.

Photo by rusticus80

About Lauren Baratto

Lauren Baratto is a twenty-four year old self-proclaimed “old soul,” who strives to impact the lives of others through consistently exercising compassion, and empathy. Overly enthusiastic about the healthcare field and helping others, Lauren’s ultimate passion is writing and while she doesn’t have a blog or book just yet… she hopes to in the future….. STAY TUNED and connect at: facebook.com/lauren.bee53

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Personal Growth

Life Is A Marathon, Not A Sprint: Why You Need To Slow Down

Life is often compared to a marathon, not a sprint, and for good reason.

In our fast-paced world, it is easy to get caught up in the sprint mentality of instant gratification. We chase quick fixes, rush last-minute deadlines, and compare ourselves to others’ finish lines.

But what if this breathless, breakneck pace hinders our long-term happiness and success? What if, instead of rushing past the scenery, we see life as a marathon, not a sprint?

Seeing life as a marathon, not a sprint, can boost your well-being, relationships, and happiness.

Life Is A Marathon

I was immediately attracted to the concept that life is a marathon, not a sprint.

When you see your life as a marathon, you become more focused on the process and not only the finish line.

Unlike a sprint, a marathon tests our endurance and challenges our mental toughness and ability to keep moving forward when everyone would most likely quit.

We must pace ourselves in our life’s journey, or we’ll run out of gas or burn out. Slow and steady wins the race.

Why Is Life Not A Sprint?

There are many reasons why life is often likened to a marathon rather than a sprint.

Here are some key points to consider:

Unlike a sprint, which is a short burst of intense activity, a marathon requires sustained effort and pacing over a long period.

Life is similarly filled with long-term endeavors, requiring consistent dedication and resilience to achieve our goals and aspirations. Burning out all your energy early won’t get you to the finish line.

Life is a journey of continual learning and growth. While a sprint focuses on reaching a single endpoint, the marathon of life offers opportunities to learn from experiences, overcome challenges, and develop new skills.

This journey itself shapes who we become, not just the final destination.

Viewing life as a marathon encourages us to savor the small moments and experiences, not just fixate on the final outcome. The scenic sights, meaningful connections, and personal growth we encounter along the path become integral parts of the journey, enriching our lives beyond simply reaching the finish line.

Achieving long-term goals requires maintaining a healthy balance between effort and rest, work and leisure. Just like marathoners need to pace themselves and prioritize recovery, fulfilling life requires finding a sustainable rhythm that nurtures our physical and mental well-being.

Life is rarely predictable. Unexpected challenges and changes can arise at any time. Viewing life as a marathon prepares us to adapt and be flexible, developing resilience to overcome obstacles and navigate unforeseen circumstances.

While the “marathon vs. sprint” analogy is not a perfect metaphor, it offers a valuable perspective on approaching life.

It reminds us to prioritize sustainability, continuous learning, savoring the journey, maintaining balance, and adapting to change. Ultimately, a well-paced and mindful approach to life allows us to experience the trip entirely rather than solely focusing on the finish line.

Of course, there are also situations where short bursts of energy and focus are crucial, and sprinting could be a valid metaphor.

Ultimately, the key is to find the appropriate pace and approach for different aspects of life, acknowledging that it’s a complex and multifaceted journey, not a single-minded race.

The Pitfalls of Sprinting: Short-Term Gains, Long-Term Costs

In a sprint, the focus is on speed, urgency, and reaching the finish line as quickly as possible.

While sprinting may yield short-term gains, it often comes at the expense of long-term sustainability and well-being.

On the other hand, a marathon is a test of endurance, patience, and pacing oneself for the long haul. Applying this perspective can lead to a more balanced, fulfilling existence.

Sustainability: The Key to Endurance in Life’s Marathon

One of the key reasons to embrace the marathon mindset is the importance of sustainability.

In a sprint, there’s a risk of burnout – pushing yourself too hard, too quickly, and draining your physical and mental resources.

This can lead to fatigue, stress, and a diminished capacity to enjoy life. By slowing down and adopting a more sustainable pace, you allow yourself the time and energy to navigate life’s challenges with resilience and grace.

Resilience in the Marathon of Life

Moreover, life is filled with unpredictable twists and turns, much like the varied terrain of a marathon course.

Unexpected obstacles, setbacks, and opportunities are inevitable, and a sprint mentality may leave you ill-equipped to handle the inevitable ups and downs.

By embracing the marathon approach, you develop the resilience to navigate life’s challenges more effectively, adjusting your pace when needed and persisting through difficulties with a steady, determined mindset.

Cultivating Relationships: The Marathon of Connection

Building and maintaining meaningful relationships also benefits from life, a marathon perspective.

In a sprint, there’s a tendency to prioritize personal achievements over interpersonal connections, leading to loneliness and isolation.

Much like a marathon, relationships require time, effort, and commitment. Cultivating deep connections with others, being present in the moment, and investing in the well-being of those around you can lead to more fulfilling and lasting relationships.

Appreciating the Journey

Another aspect of the marathon mindset is the appreciation for the journey itself. In a sprint, the focus is primarily on the end goal , often neglecting the experiences, lessons, and personal growth gained along the way.

Life’s journey is a series of moments, and slowing down allows you to savor and appreciate each step. It’s about finding joy, celebrating small victories, and learning from challenges.

This mindset shift can enhance your overall satisfaction with life and contribute to a more positive outlook.

Courage to Embrace the Marathon: Balancing Ambition and Well-Being

In a world that values speed and instant gratification, it takes courage to resist the sprint mentality and embrace the marathon mindset.

Slowing down doesn’t mean abandoning goals or ambition; it involves a strategic and intentional approach to life.

It’s about finding a balance that allows you to pursue your aspirations while prioritizing your well-being, relationships, and the richness of the journey itself.

The Marathon Mentality

A marathon is a test of endurance, resilience, and strategic pacing. It’s not about bursting out of the gates with explosive speed only to fizzle out halfway through.

It’s about finding a sustainable rhythm, weathering the course’s ups and downs, and crossing the finish line with strength and satisfaction.

This, my friend, is a much more apt metaphor for life’s journey.

Sure, there will be moments that call for sprints – bursts of effort towards a specific goal, moments of passion and intensity.

But these must be interspersed with rest, recovery, and reflection periods. Like seasoned marathoners, we must understand the importance of training, building our physical and mental reserves, and listening to our bodies’ signals.

Here are some key lessons we can learn from the marathon mindset:

• Focus on the long game:  Set long-term goals and break them down into manageable steps. Celebrate small victories, but keep your eyes on the horizon.
• Pace yourself:  Don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s. Find a rhythm that works for you, listen to your needs, and avoid burning out.
• Enjoy the journey:  Life is not just about reaching the finish line. Savor the experiences, appreciate the moments, and find joy.
• Embrace the hills:  Challenges are inevitable. Instead of seeing them as roadblocks, view them as opportunities to build strength and resilience.
• Learn from setbacks:  A stumble doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Analyze what went wrong, adjust your strategy, and get back on track.

Ultimately, the marathon metaphor reminds us that life is a continuous journey, not a race against time or others. It’s about showing up daily, progressing, and enjoying the scenery.

So, take a deep breath, slow down your pace, and embrace the beautiful marathon that is your life. Remember, slow and steady wins the race, and the finish line, when you get there, will be all the sweeter.

What are some roadblocks you’ll face?

Even with the benefits a marathon mindset offers, it’s not without its potential roadblocks:

1. Difficulty maintaining motivation: While long-term goals can be inspiring, they can also feel distant and abstract. Staying motivated through daily actions when the finish line is far away can be challenging.

2. Dealing with impatience: Our fast-paced world encourages instant results. The marathon approach requires patience and acceptance of a slower pace, which can be frustrating for those accustomed to quick wins.

3. Overtraining and burnout: The focus on endurance can lead to pushing oneself too hard, neglecting the importance of rest and recovery, and increasing the risk of burnout.

4. Difficulty adapting to setbacks: Unexpected events and challenges are inevitable, and sticking to a predetermined plan amidst change can be difficult.

5. Lack of social support: Embracing a slower pace can feel isolating in a world obsessed with productivity and achieving milestones quickly. Finding others with a life-is-a-marathon mindset can be crucial for support and encouragement.

6. Difficulty balancing long-term goals with immediate needs: Prioritizing long-term goals sometimes means sacrificing immediate desires. Managing this balance can be tricky and requires careful planning and decision-making.

7. Overlooking small victories: Focusing solely on the distant finish line can make it easy to miss and celebrate the smaller achievements along the way, potentially leading to feeling discouraged and unappreciated.

These roadblocks highlight the importance of flexibility and finding the right balance within life in a marathon mindset.

By acknowledging these challenges and implementing strategies to overcome them, individuals can embrace the long-term journey while adapting to life’s inevitable twists and turns.

How Do You Recover?

Recovery is an essential part of the marathon mindset , both physically and mentally. Here are some strategies to help you bounce back from the roadblocks mentioned:

Physical Recovery:

• Rest and listen to your body:   Take active rest days, prioritize sleep, and engage in low-impact activities like swimming, yoga, or light walks.
• Fuel your body:  Eat a balanced diet of fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean protein to replenish nutrients and rebuild muscle tissue.
• Stay hydrated:  Drink plenty of water daily to aid muscle recovery and prevent dehydration.
• Active recovery:  Consider incorporating gentle stretches, foam rolling, or self-massage to improve circulation and reduce muscle soreness.

Related: Effective Ways To Relieve Tension

Mental Recovery:

• Practice mindfulness and meditation:  Taking time to quiet your mind and focus on the present moment can help manage stress and boost resilience.
• Celebrate small victories:  Acknowledge and appreciate your progress, no matter how small, to stay motivated and reinforce positive behaviors.
• Connect with supportive people:  Surround yourself with friends, family, or a community that understands and values your long-term goals.
• Seek professional help:  If you’re struggling to cope with stress or manage setbacks, consider consulting a therapist or counselor for personalized guidance and support.

Remember, recovery is not a linear process. There will be good days and bad days. Be patient, adapt your strategies as needed, and don’t be afraid to seek help.

By prioritizing both physical and mental recovery, you can navigate the roadblocks of the marathon mindset and continue your journey with renewed energy and a positive outlook.

Life is a marathon, not a sprint. You can build a more sustainable, fulfilling, and meaningful life by slowing down, pacing yourself, and appreciating the journey.

Embracing the marathon mindset allows you to navigate challenges resiliently, cultivate lasting relationships, and find joy in living.

So, take a deep breath, adjust your pace, and savor the marathon that is life.

So what do you think? Is life a marathon and not a sprint?

Read Next: Joshua Bell Incident: Stop And Smell The Roses

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Doing Race: 21 Essays for the 21st Century

Doing Race focuses on race and ethnicity in everyday life: what they are, how they work, and why they matter. Going to school and work, renting an apartment or buying a house, watching television, voting, listening to music, reading books and newspapers, attending religious services, and going to the doctor are all everyday activities that are influenced by assumptions about who counts, whom to trust, whom to care about, whom to include, and why. Race and ethnicity are powerful precisely because they organize modern society and play a large role in fueling violence around the globe. Doing Race is targeted to undergraduates; it begins with an introductory essay and includes original essays by well-known scholars. Drawing on the latest science and scholarship, the collected essays emphasize that race and ethnicity are not things that people or groups have or are , but rather sets of actions that people do . Doing Race provides compelling evidence that we are not yet in a “post-race” world and that race and ethnicity matter for everyone. Since race and ethnicity are the products of human actions, we can do them differently. Like studying the human genome or the laws of economics, understanding race and ethnicity is a necessary part of a twenty first century education.

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Thoughts To Inspire

Life is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.

Each minute of our life is a lesson but most of us fail to read it. I thought I would just add my daily lessons & the lessons that I learned by seeing the people around here. So it may be useful for you and as memories for me.

Life is not a Race to WIN… Life is like a Journey , to ENJOY every moment. We are running through life so fast that we forget not only where we have been but also where we are going.

There is no reward for completing the race my friend. Please run at your own speed and run how you like it.

Don’t try to run other’s race. It is your own race run how you like it.

Stop worrying about the consequences. Live in the present, share the glory of being a part of this race. No amount of gold, silver or money will or can compensate what you will miss if you try to rush things and miss the very essence of running.

Don’t just run for the sake of running because running is important and not the race!!

Do not undermine your worth by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different that each of us is special. Do not set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is best for you. Do not take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to them as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless. Do not let your years slip through your fingers by living in the past, nor in the future. By living your life one day at a time, you live all the days of your life. Do not give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying. Do not be afraid to encounter risks. It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave. Do not shut love out of your life by saying it is impossible to find. The quickest way to receive love is to give love; the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly. Do not dismiss your dreams. To be without dreams is to be without hope; to be without hope is to be without purpose. Do not run through life so fast that you forget not only where you have been, but also where you are going.

We have born and brought up in society, where we were prepared to compete with others – your fellow mates and friends. 

The seed had planted when you were at school. The pressure of scoring highest marks, the pressure of performing well in sports, the weight of getting admission into a renown college, getting a good job and again getting into an unhealthy competition at the workplace.

Life is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.

When you were in college, you wanted a job.

When you got a job in service-based company, You wanted product-based.

When you got 6 LPA package, you wanted 10 LPA.

When you got 15 LPA, You wanted 30 LPA.

When you got 40 LPA CTC, you wanted 40 LPA Fixed.

When you got 50 LPA fixed, You wanted to build a startup.

When you got successful in that, you wanted early retirement.

When you retired early, you wanted unlimited passive income.

When you got everything you ever wanted, You wanted time to enjoy it.

Hence, time is your most valuable asset and it cannot be equated with your earnings. Enjoy your 20s and 30s by both working hard and playing hard. Feel the satisfaction of hitting milestones. The finish line is not really important.

Achieve your own goals ( Not society’s expectations ). You don’t need to prove anything to anyone but yourself.

Nobody is measuring you, they are busy in their lives. You are the only opponent to yourself in this battle.

Running towards the next fulfillment will never be able to find peace in life. It will only lead us distant away from what we’re hoping to feel.

The only way to win the race of life is to realize that, there is no race.

Winning has to be from within us. We need to find happiness within ourselves. True satisfaction can only be observed from inside.

Life is not a race or competition. It’s a journey. Don’t just run after aiming at the finishing line, rather enjoy the ride.

Please feel free to share your story and any lessons you learned, you experienced, you came across in your life in the comments below. If you enjoyed this, or any other other posts, I’d be honoured  if you’d share it with your family, friends and followers!

If you wish to follow my journey outside of my writing, you can find me on Facebook ( https://www.facebook.com/MunnaPrawin ) Instagram( MunnaPrawin ) and Twitter( @munnaprawin1 )

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Posted by MunnaPrawin on July 1, 2021 in Experiences of Life. , Life & It's Importance

Tags: life , life is a journey , Life is not a race , Life is short , life is valuable , MunnaPrawin , ShanvikaPrawin

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Life is a journey, not a race

More often than not (at least in my situation), our lives are an addition of things that happen to us or are forced upon us: we don't live, we survive.

If you were to die tomorrow, would you say you lived a good life? I’m putting the emphasis here on the word “live". More often than not (at least in my situation), our lives are an addition of things that happen to us or are forced upon us: we don't live, we survive. We do all of that in the hope that someday we’ll be free of suffering, free of any external influences. But will we?

If there is something I learned in the last few months is the fact that life is a journey, not a race. Trust me, I tried running, I tried not sleeping and doing my best to keep up with people who run faster than me, hopelessly. I trained for the competition as I was supposed to...  only to discover that if I think there is a race, I already lost.

Life is a journey and everyone is on his own path.  There is no comparison possible so, rather than feeling bad for not being as good/fast/smart as the next person, we should think of what we can do to enjoy it better. Think of it as if you were on a cruise. You paid a lot of money and waited a long time to get there but it’s finally D-Day, you’re on the boat! Now, what is better to focus on: how will other people enjoy the view and the buffet, or how you can enjoy them for yourself?

Treat it as an adventure

A few weeks ago, in one of my newsletters, I mentioned how little change in the way we see the world could have a tremendous effect. Sometimes the mere thought of doing something depresses us because we see it as forced by someone else unto us (school, work, parents). Usually, it’s not the actual task that we don’t like but rather the fact that we didn’t have a choice for it.

And, can we change that? Actually, we can, it all depends on the way we choose to see it! Sure, you might want to let it depress you, it’s your right. But you could instead choose to focus on what you can learn and actually have fun with it. Even the most awful situations and subjects have a bright side (even learning maths or doing chores), we just have to find them!

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2024, a year of exploration

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After a long and unforeseen hiatus, I finally feel ready to address the causes that prevented me to write and feel creative.

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Getting Real About Race

• Stephanie M. McClure - Georgia College & State University, USA
• Cherise A. Harris - Connecticut College, USA
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Getting Real About Race  is an edited collection of short essays that address the most common stereotypes and misconceptions about race held by students, and by many in the United States, in general. Key Features

• Each essay concludes with  suggested sources  including videos, websites, books, and/or articles that instructors can choose to assign as additional readings on a topic.
• Essays also end with  questions for discussion  that allow students to move from the “what” (knowledge) to the “so what” (implications) of race in their own lives.
• In this spirit, the authors include suggested “ Reaching Across the Color Line ” activities at the end of each essay, allowing students to apply their new knowledge on the topic in a unique or creative way.
• Current topics  students want to discuss are brought up through the text, making it easier for the instructor to deal with these topics in an open classroom environment.

See what’s new to this edition by selecting the Features tab on this page. Should you need additional information or have questions regarding the HEOA information provided for this title, including what is new to this edition, please email [email protected] . Please include your name, contact information, and the name of the title for which you would like more information. For information on the HEOA, please go to http://ed.gov/policy/highered/leg/hea08/index.html .

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This Race Called Life

Achieving Happiness is an elusive goal and one that can be quite difficult to accomplish. However, I like to think about life and the quest towards Happiness as a marathon. Since the word marathon may seem a bit intimidating for some, we’ll stick with life being a race, in which we are the runners. In the race of life, we don’t need to place first, second, or third, because we are each allowed to run at our own desired pace. The best part of this race is that it isn’t necessary to cut out certain foods from our diet, and constant training isn’t of high importance. Pretty cool, huh? So it honestly isn’t about how quickly you run the race, but, more importantly, how you handle yourself while running it. As most people who have watched races are aware, many of them include hurdles placed at intervals along the track. Our life race consists of many hurdles, and in order to run the race as well as possible, it is in our best interest to jump over the hurdles, rather than stumble and fall over each of them. Great, so life is a race and we’re the runners, but now what? Well, here’s where the fun comes into play. We each signed up for this race, and before you know it, the day of the race is tomorrow. You go to sleep early the previous night, yet no matter how hard you try to fall asleep, you spend most of the night tossing and turning, until you finally get some shut-eye in the wee hours of the morning. The alarm clock rings, but you desperately hit the snooze button three or four times. You finally turn the alarm off, get out of bed as slowly as possible, until you realize what time it is. You rush over to the shower as a final means of waking yourself up, and once you dry off and get dressed, you’re off to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. After a nutritious breakfast, you decide that you’re as ready as you’ll ever be and you get into your car and head off to the location where the race is being held. You arrive at the track and the nerves begin to kick in now more than ever. Upon walking over to the registration booth, you sign in and receive a paper bib with your runner’s number, which you hope to represent well in your run to the finish line. The time arrives for you to take your mark and get set, and within a few seconds the whistle blows and you’re off! You begin at a decent speed, remembering how important it is to pace yourself throughout this race. So far, the race isn’t all that bad, and you are quite impressed at how well you’re doing. Up ahead you see the first hurdle in the race, and it’s no problem at all until you realize that you haven’t had any practice whatsoever with hurdles. Oh no, you think, and with just a few feet to go until you reach the first hurdle, doubt begins to engulf your mind. You imagine yourself unable to jump the hurdle, and see yourself falling the second you lift your feet off the ground. You wonder what you’re even doing running in a race if you aren’t able to jump hurdles, and feel as though you are going to make a fool of yourself. But you continue running straight for it and as you go for the jump, your foot hits the hurdle, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground as though you had been placed there for a posed photograph. You feel disappointed in yourself, and embarrassed, and take your time getting up because you blew your shot at the race. You wonder what the audience thinks of you as you walk off the track with low self esteem and a sudden lack of confidence. Now that we have established your temporary failure, let’s rewind the story for a minute. The race seems to be going quite well, but it isn’t long before you spot the first hurdle up ahead. You feel somewhat nervous, but you do not allow your nerves to get the best of you. You picture yourself achieving the goal of jumping over the upcoming hurdle with absolutely no difficulty, and you decide to remain positive. You continue running straight for it, and as you go for the jump, your foot hits the hurdle, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground. You immediately pick yourself up, bounce back into the race, and continue running. For just a fraction of a second you feel embarrassed and wonder what others are thinking about your fall. You then realize that their thoughts are of little importance to you in this race, so your confidence and self esteem remain where they were just a few seconds ago. During the course of our lives, we will be faced with many challenging obstacles, or hurdles, to our personal Happiness. In the end, it is up to us how we wish to act upon overcoming those obstacles. Everyone deals with challenging situations differently, and while some may be able to pick themselves up after a tough situation, others may need more time to heal their wounds before continuing on in the race. It is important to remember that we must continue on in this race called life because nothing is worth keeping us down when we have the opportunity to get back up and enjoy our lives to the fullest. So remember, when life puts hurdles across your path, try your best to jump over them. Even if you fall, it’s perfectly okay to give yourself a little time to dust yourself off before getting up and kicking butt in the race again. I know you have it in you to overcome whatever hurdles come your way, so get ready. On your mark, get set, go!

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Favorite Quote: Anyone who says winning isn't everything, Has won nothing. ``Mia Hamm

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Enchanting Wonders of the Tropical Rainforest: a Vivid Description

This essay about the tropical rainforest provides a vivid description of its unparalleled biodiversity and intricate ecosystems. From the towering canopy to the bustling forest floor, every aspect of the rainforest teems with life, showcasing the wonders of nature’s resilience. Despite its beauty, the rainforest faces threats like deforestation and climate change, putting countless species at risk. The summary emphasizes the need for stewardship to protect and preserve this vital ecosystem for future generations, underscoring the importance of conservation efforts to safeguard its enchanting wonders.

How it works

In the heart of the world’s equatorial regions lies a treasure trove of biodiversity, a realm where life flourishes in abundance and diversity like nowhere else on Earth – the tropical rainforest. Stretching across continents like a lush green blanket, these vibrant ecosystems harbor an astonishing array of flora and fauna, each intricately woven into the intricate tapestry of life. Let us embark on a journey to unravel the enchanting wonders of the tropical rainforest.

At first glance, the tropical rainforest captivates with its towering canopy, where sunlight filters through a dense maze of foliage, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor below.

This dense, multilayered canopy serves as a haven for countless species of plants and animals, each carving out their niche in this bustling ecosystem. From majestic towering trees reaching for the sky to delicate orchids clinging to the branches, every corner of the rainforest teems with life, painting a breathtaking tableau of biodiversity.

Beneath the canopy lies a rich tapestry of life, where the forest floor teems with activity. Here, a myriad of plants compete for sunlight in the dim understory, while fungi and decomposers work tirelessly to recycle nutrients, fueling the cycle of life. Amidst the lush foliage, elusive creatures like jaguars, tapirs, and colorful birds roam, their presence a testament to the rainforest’s remarkable resilience.

But perhaps the true marvel of the tropical rainforest lies hidden beneath the surface, where a vast network of rivers and streams meander through the dense foliage, nourishing the land and shaping its diverse ecosystems. These lifelines not only provide essential water for the flora and fauna but also serve as vital corridors for migration, allowing species to thrive across vast distances.

Yet, despite its awe-inspiring beauty, the tropical rainforest faces myriad threats, from deforestation and habitat fragmentation to climate change and illegal poaching. As human activities encroach further into these pristine habitats, the delicate balance of life hangs in the balance, putting countless species at risk of extinction.

In conclusion, the tropical rainforest stands as a testament to the incredible diversity and resilience of life on Earth. From its towering canopies to its rich forest floor, every inch of this biodiverse wonderland teems with life, offering a glimpse into the intricate web of interconnectedness that sustains our planet. As stewards of this precious ecosystem, it is our responsibility to protect and preserve the tropical rainforest for generations to come, ensuring that its enchanting wonders endure for centuries to come.

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Laura Jarrett reveals what it was like to read Trump’s historic verdict on live TV

NBC News senior legal correspondent Laura Jarrett thrives under pressure. So Jarrett was ready to go the afternoon of May 30, when a New York jury found Donald Trump guilty on all 34 felony counts of falsifying business records. TODAY’s Savannah Guthrie and Nightly News’ Lester Holt were delivering a special report, when suddenly Jarrett’s voice could heard in the background. It was urgent.

“Guys! We need to go,” Jarrett said. “We need to go.”

“Go,” Savannah said. 

The cameras then turned to Jarrett, who read off each count, one by one. Trump became the first former United States president to be convicted of felony crimes.

It’s moments like this that inspired Jarrett to leave her career practicing law to become a legal analyst on TV. 

“I’ve always loved putting the puzzle pieces together and figuring out how to tell a complicated story in the most straightforward and compelling way as possible,” Jarrett previously told TODAY.com . 

Here, Jarrett recounts what was going through her mind at that historic moment. 

“IN THIS MOMENT , my thoughts were this: Be calm. Play it straight. You know this case. Those of us who cover high profile legal cases are used to pressure.

But 5:00 p.m. on Thursday — when former President Donald Trump became the first U.S. president to be convicted of felony crimes — was next level. I went to law school, I clerked for judges, I practiced law, and I gave it all up — for this. This was the moment that sealed that I made the right choice.

I thought carefully about my dress, and more importantly — sneakers! I knew it could be a long day, but the bathroom situation when waiting outside of court is always tricky. Turns out when you are reading ‘guilty’ on live television 34 times with millions watching, you forget you sort of needed to pee.  

As I looked at the first ‘G’ for count of the jury’s verdict on our Google spreadsheet entered by our intrepid correspondent in the courtroom, Tom Winter, I felt eerily relaxed. But then you realize, you have 33 more to go! So I just kept going. We had a plan. And I love a plan. So I kept at it.

I haven’t seen my two young children in days. But on Friday morning, for the first time in weeks, I will walk my son to school. His very last day of pre-school. Because he has his mama back.”

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How to Calculate Your Life Expectancy

Understanding how long you could live is key to successful retirement planning.

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A key part of retirement planning is managing longevity risk - the risk that you will outlive your money.

How would your retirement plans change if you knew you would live to 100? While no one has a crystal ball to see the future, there are tools available to help you make an educated guess regarding your life expectancy. And that knowledge could help you avoid running short of money in retirement.

“We are living longer, and that’s because of genetics and science,” says Avneet Kaur, chief financial officer and co-founder of wealth management firm Core Family Office in Los Angeles. She suggests that three-digit lifespans could soon become more common.

Certainly, the number of centenarians has been steadily increasing. The New England Centenarian Study out of Boston University calculates that 0.27% of the U.S. population was age 100 or older as of 2021, double the prevalence from 20 years earlier.

Even if you don’t expect to hit the 100-year mark, understanding longevity and calculating your life expectancy are important steps in preparing for a successful retirement.

Why Life Expectancy Matters

The most obvious reason to know your life expectancy is to more accurately estimate how much money to save for retirement . Funding a 10-year retirement looks much different than paying for 30 years out of the workforce.

It goes beyond that, though. Your longevity can also influence when you start Social Security , which accounts you save in and how you withdraw money later.

There is an added layer of importance for couples who need to plan for not just one, but two lifespans. That means not only ensuring resources are available to cover the needs of each partner until death, but that each person understands how their household’s retirement plan works.

“ Women should be more in charge of their finances ,” Kaur says. She has seen instances in which a woman will let her husband manage all the money, only to be left with debt and no assets once he dies. Knowing your life expectancy won’t be helpful if you're blocked out of financial planning decisions.

How to Determine How Long You’ll Live

There is no way to be 100% certain about your life expectancy but you can make a good guess.

“One common way to estimate life expectancy is by using actuarial life tables,” says Andrew Latham, certified financial planner and managing editor of the financial comparison website Supermoney. These tables use statistical data to estimate mortality.

Here are two to try:

• Social Security Life Expectancy Calculator : Based on Social Security actuarial tables, this simple calculator estimates your lifespan based on your current age. Simply enter your sex and birthdate to see the average additional lifespan you can expect based upon your current age and retirement milestone ages. This calculator does not take into consideration factors such as your health or lifestyle.
• Actuaries Longevity Illustrator : Developed by the American Academy of Actuaries and Society of Actuaries, this tool is designed to provide longevity probabilities for individuals and couples. It asks for a person’s gender, date of birth, expected retirement age, smoker status and general health status. The calculator assumes you will make it to your expected retirement age and then provides the probability of living to ages through 100. You can print the results and take them to your financial planner.

“This really can be a wake-up call, in a positive way, for people to think about their retirement choices,” says Linda K. Stone, senior pension fellow with the American Academy of Actuaries. If someone knows they have a 25% chance of reaching age 95 or a 15% probability of living to 100, they may rethink how they approach saving and spending decisions.

Mistakes to Avoid When Calculating Life Expectancy

Don’t make the retirement mistake of thinking that figures for average life expectancy will accurately reflect your individual lifespan.

“The most common mistake when calculating life expectancy is underestimating how long you will live,” Latham says. “Many people base their calculations on average life expectancies, but remember, these are just averages.”

Those averages may be skewed by irregular events, such as the COVID-19 pandemic. They also don’t take into account individual factors like health and family history.

In 2021, the average life expectancy at birth was 79.1 for women and 73.2 for men, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

However, if a man is healthy enough to reach age 70 this year, the Social Security actuarial tables indicate he could live an average of 15.4 years more. That’s more than a decade longer than the CDC figure suggests.

For this reason, it’s crucial to estimate longevity based on your individual factors rather than relying on more general averages.

How Long Will Your Retirement Savings Last?

This free calculator estimates how far your retirement savings and income might last.

Managing Longevity Risk

A key part of retirement planning is managing longevity risk – that is, the risk that you will outlive your money. Doing so can involve more than simply putting extra cash into a retirement account.

“People need to reframe how they plan for retirement,” says Evan Potash, wealth management advisor with TIAA. “Rather than worrying about nest eggs, they need to ask: How should I plan for savings that will last the rest of my life?”

The answer, he says, is to look for sources of lifetime income . These provide a steady stream of cash regardless of how long you live. Social Security is one example and a primary source of income for many retirees.

Traditional pensions are also a source of guaranteed income in retirement, but relatively few workers qualify for these benefits nowadays. An alternative may be to purchase an annuity – some products promise not only lifetime benefits for you but the possibility of benefits for your heirs as well.

“You want to start by securing yourself and your beneficiaries,” Kaur says.

She suggests her clients begin with permanent life insurance or a product such as a fixed annuity to safeguard funds for the future. Unlike 401(k) plans and IRAs, these accounts are insulated from market downturns. “We want to keep you away from the market when it’s a foundational product,” she says.

Regardless of the specific financial products and accounts you use, it’s always best to plan for a longer life rather than a shorter one. Having money left when you die is preferable to running short and needing to make drastic lifestyle changes during your final years.

How to Cut Costs in Retirement

Rodney Brooks June 26, 2023

Tags: retirement , savings , personal finance , longevity , aging , money

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Updated at 2:44 p.m. ET on April 6, 2024.

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MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas, from the window of an approaching Miami cab, brings on a feeling of vertigo, nausea, amazement, and distress. I shut my eyes in defense, as my brain tells my optic nerve to try again.

The ship makes no sense, vertically or horizontally. It makes no sense on sea, or on land, or in outer space. It looks like a hodgepodge of domes and minarets, tubes and canopies, like Istanbul had it been designed by idiots. Vibrant, oversignifying colors are stacked upon other such colors, decks perched over still more decks; the only comfort is a row of lifeboats ringing its perimeter. There is no imposed order, no cogent thought, and, for those who do not harbor a totalitarian sense of gigantomania, no visual mercy. This is the biggest cruise ship ever built, and I have been tasked with witnessing its inaugural voyage.

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“Author embarks on their first cruise-ship voyage” has been a staple of American essay writing for almost three decades, beginning with David Foster Wallace’s “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again,” which was first published in 1996 under the title “Shipping Out.” Since then, many admirable writers have widened and diversified the genre. Usually the essayist commissioned to take to the sea is in their first or second flush of youth and is ready to sharpen their wit against the hull of the offending vessel. I am 51, old and tired, having seen much of the world as a former travel journalist, and mostly what I do in both life and prose is shrug while muttering to my imaginary dachshund, “This too shall pass.” But the Icon of the Seas will not countenance a shrug. The Icon of the Seas is the Linda Loman of cruise ships, exclaiming that attention must be paid. And here I am in late January with my one piece of luggage and useless gray winter jacket and passport, zipping through the Port of Miami en route to the gangway that will separate me from the bulk of North America for more than seven days, ready to pay it in full.

The aforementioned gangway opens up directly onto a thriving mall (I will soon learn it is imperiously called the “Royal Promenade”), presently filled with yapping passengers beneath a ceiling studded with balloons ready to drop. Crew members from every part of the global South, as well as a few Balkans, are shepherding us along while pressing flutes of champagne into our hands. By a humming Starbucks, I drink as many of these as I can and prepare to find my cabin. I show my blue Suite Sky SeaPass Card (more on this later, much more) to a smiling woman from the Philippines, and she tells me to go “aft.” Which is where, now? As someone who has rarely sailed on a vessel grander than the Staten Island Ferry, I am confused. It turns out that the aft is the stern of the ship, or, for those of us who don’t know what a stern or an aft are, its ass. The nose of the ship, responsible for separating the waves before it, is also called a bow, and is marked for passengers as the FWD , or forward. The part of the contemporary sailing vessel where the malls are clustered is called the midship. I trust that you have enjoyed this nautical lesson.

I ascend via elevator to my suite on Deck 11. This is where I encounter my first terrible surprise. My suite windows and balcony do not face the ocean. Instead, they look out onto another shopping mall. This mall is the one that’s called Central Park, perhaps in homage to the Olmsted-designed bit of greenery in the middle of my hometown. Although on land I would be delighted to own a suite with Central Park views, here I am deeply depressed. To sail on a ship and not wake up to a vast blue carpet of ocean? Unthinkable.

Allow me a brief preamble here. The story you are reading was commissioned at a moment when most staterooms on the Icon were sold out. In fact, so enthralled by the prospect of this voyage were hard-core mariners that the ship’s entire inventory of guest rooms (the Icon can accommodate up to 7,600 passengers, but its inaugural journey was reduced to 5,000 or so for a less crowded experience) was almost immediately sold out. Hence, this publication was faced with the shocking prospect of paying nearly $19,000 to procure for this solitary passenger an entire suite—not including drinking expenses—all for the privilege of bringing you this article. But the suite in question doesn’t even have a view of the ocean! I sit down hard on my soft bed. Nineteen thousand dollars for this .

The viewless suite does have its pluses. In addition to all the Malin+Goetz products in my dual bathrooms, I am granted use of a dedicated Suite Deck lounge; access to Coastal Kitchen, a superior restaurant for Suites passengers; complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream (“the fastest Internet at Sea”) “for one device per person for the whole cruise duration”; a pair of bathrobes (one of which comes prestained with what looks like a large expectoration by the greenest lizard on Earth); and use of the Grove Suite Sun, an area on Decks 18 and 19 with food and deck chairs reserved exclusively for Suite passengers. I also get reserved seating for a performance of The Wizard of Oz , an ice-skating tribute to the periodic table, and similar provocations. The very color of my Suite Sky SeaPass Card, an oceanic blue as opposed to the cloying royal purple of the standard non-Suite passenger, will soon provoke envy and admiration. But as high as my status may be, there are those on board who have much higher status still, and I will soon learn to bow before them.

In preparation for sailing, I have “priced in,” as they say on Wall Street, the possibility that I may come from a somewhat different monde than many of the other cruisers. Without falling into stereotypes or preconceptions, I prepare myself for a friendly outspokenness on the part of my fellow seafarers that may not comply with modern DEI standards. I believe in meeting people halfway, and so the day before flying down to Miami, I visited what remains of Little Italy to purchase a popular T-shirt that reads DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL across the breast in the colors of the Italian flag. My wife recommended that I bring one of my many T-shirts featuring Snoopy and the Peanuts gang, as all Americans love the beagle and his friends. But I naively thought that my meatball T-shirt would be more suitable for conversation-starting. “Oh, and who is your ‘daddy’?” some might ask upon seeing it. “And how long have you been his ‘little meatball’?” And so on.

I put on my meatball T-shirt and head for one of the dining rooms to get a late lunch. In the elevator, I stick out my chest for all to read the funny legend upon it, but soon I realize that despite its burnished tricolor letters, no one takes note. More to the point, no one takes note of me. Despite my attempts at bridge building, the very sight of me (small, ethnic, without a cap bearing the name of a football team) elicits no reaction from other passengers. Most often, they will small-talk over me as if I don’t exist. This brings to mind the travails of David Foster Wallace , who felt so ostracized by his fellow passengers that he retreated to his cabin for much of his voyage. And Wallace was raised primarily in the Midwest and was a much larger, more American-looking meatball than I am. If he couldn’t talk to these people, how will I? What if I leave this ship without making any friends at all, despite my T-shirt? I am a social creature, and the prospect of seven days alone and apart is saddening. Wallace’s stateroom, at least, had a view of the ocean, a kind of cheap eternity.

Worse awaits me in the dining room. This is a large, multichandeliered room where I attended my safety training (I was shown how to put on a flotation vest; it is a very simple procedure). But the maître d’ politely refuses me entry in an English that seems to verge on another language. “I’m sorry, this is only for pendejos ,” he seems to be saying. I push back politely and he repeats himself. Pendejos ? Piranhas? There’s some kind of P-word to which I am not attuned. Meanwhile elderly passengers stream right past, powered by their limbs, walkers, and electric wheelchairs. “It is only pendejo dining today, sir.” “But I have a suite!” I say, already starting to catch on to the ship’s class system. He examines my card again. “But you are not a pendejo ,” he confirms. I am wearing a DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL T-shirt, I want to say to him. I am the essence of pendejo .

Eventually, I give up and head to the plebeian buffet on Deck 15, which has an aquatic-styled name I have now forgotten. Before gaining entry to this endless cornucopia of reheated food, one passes a washing station of many sinks and soap dispensers, and perhaps the most intriguing character on the entire ship. He is Mr. Washy Washy—or, according to his name tag, Nielbert of the Philippines—and he is dressed as a taco (on other occasions, I’ll see him dressed as a burger). Mr. Washy Washy performs an eponymous song in spirited, indeed flamboyant English: “Washy, washy, wash your hands, WASHY WASHY!” The dangers of norovirus and COVID on a cruise ship this size (a giant fellow ship was stricken with the former right after my voyage) makes Mr. Washy Washy an essential member of the crew. The problem lies with the food at the end of Washy’s rainbow. The buffet is groaning with what sounds like sophisticated dishes—marinated octopus, boiled egg with anchovy, chorizo, lobster claws—but every animal tastes tragically the same, as if there was only one creature available at the market, a “cruisipus” bred specifically for Royal Caribbean dining. The “vegetables” are no better. I pick up a tomato slice and look right through it. It tastes like cellophane. I sit alone, apart from the couples and parents with gaggles of children, as “We Are Family” echoes across the buffet space.

I may have failed to mention that all this time, the Icon of the Seas has not left port. As the fiery mango of the subtropical setting sun makes Miami’s condo skyline even more apocalyptic, the ship shoves off beneath a perfunctory display of fireworks. After the sun sets, in the far, dark distance, another circus-lit cruise ship ruptures the waves before us. We glance at it with pity, because it is by definition a smaller ship than our own. I am on Deck 15, outside the buffet and overlooking a bunch of pools (the Icon has seven of them), drinking a frilly drink that I got from one of the bars (the Icon has 15 of them), still too shy to speak to anyone, despite Sister Sledge’s assertion that all on the ship are somehow related.

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The ship’s passage away from Ron DeSantis’s Florida provides no frisson, no sense of developing “sea legs,” as the ship is too large to register the presence of waves unless a mighty wind adds significant chop. It is time for me to register the presence of the 5,000 passengers around me, even if they refuse to register mine. My fellow travelers have prepared for this trip with personally decorated T-shirts celebrating the importance of this voyage. The simplest ones say ICON INAUGURAL ’24 on the back and the family name on the front. Others attest to an over-the-top love of cruise ships: WARNING! MAY START TALKING ABOUT CRUISING . Still others are artisanally designed and celebrate lifetimes spent married while cruising (on ships, of course). A couple possibly in their 90s are wearing shirts whose backs feature a drawing of a cruise liner, two flamingos with ostensibly male and female characteristics, and the legend “ HUSBAND AND WIFE Cruising Partners FOR LIFE WE MAY NOT HAVE IT All Together BUT TOGETHER WE HAVE IT ALL .” (The words not in all caps have been written in cursive.) A real journalist or a more intrepid conversationalist would have gone up to the couple and asked them to explain the longevity of their marriage vis-à-vis their love of cruising. But instead I head to my mall suite, take off my meatball T-shirt, and allow the first tears of the cruise to roll down my cheeks slowly enough that I briefly fall asleep amid the moisture and salt.

I WAKE UP with a hangover. Oh God. Right. I cannot believe all of that happened last night. A name floats into my cobwebbed, nauseated brain: “Ayn Rand.” Jesus Christ.

I breakfast alone at the Coastal Kitchen. The coffee tastes fine and the eggs came out of a bird. The ship rolls slightly this morning; I can feel it in my thighs and my schlong, the parts of me that are most receptive to danger.

I had a dangerous conversation last night. After the sun set and we were at least 50 miles from shore (most modern cruise ships sail at about 23 miles an hour), I lay in bed softly hiccupping, my arms stretched out exactly like Jesus on the cross, the sound of the distant waves missing from my mall-facing suite, replaced by the hum of air-conditioning and children shouting in Spanish through the vents of my two bathrooms. I decided this passivity was unacceptable. As an immigrant, I feel duty-bound to complete the tasks I am paid for, which means reaching out and trying to understand my fellow cruisers. So I put on a normal James Perse T-shirt and headed for one of the bars on the Royal Promenade—the Schooner Bar, it was called, if memory serves correctly.

I sat at the bar for a martini and two Negronis. An old man with thick, hairy forearms drank next to me, very silent and Hemingwaylike, while a dreadlocked piano player tinkled out a series of excellent Elton John covers. To my right, a young white couple—he in floral shorts, she in a light, summery miniskirt with a fearsome diamond ring, neither of them in football regalia—chatted with an elderly couple. Do it , I commanded myself. Open your mouth. Speak! Speak without being spoken to. Initiate. A sentence fragment caught my ear from the young woman, “Cherry Hill.” This is a suburb of Philadelphia in New Jersey, and I had once been there for a reading at a synagogue. “Excuse me,” I said gently to her. “Did you just mention Cherry Hill? It’s a lovely place.”

As it turned out, the couple now lived in Fort Lauderdale (the number of Floridians on the cruise surprised me, given that Southern Florida is itself a kind of cruise ship, albeit one slowly sinking), but soon they were talking with me exclusively—the man potbellied, with a chin like a hard-boiled egg; the woman as svelte as if she were one of the many Ukrainian members of the crew—the elderly couple next to them forgotten. This felt as groundbreaking as the first time I dared to address an American in his native tongue, as a child on a bus in Queens (“On my foot you are standing, Mister”).

“I don’t want to talk politics,” the man said. “But they’re going to eighty-six Biden and put Michelle in.”

I considered the contradictions of his opening conversational gambit, but decided to play along. “People like Michelle,” I said, testing the waters. The husband sneered, but the wife charitably put forward that the former first lady was “more personable” than Joe Biden. “They’re gonna eighty-six Biden,” the husband repeated. “He can’t put a sentence together.”

After I mentioned that I was a writer—though I presented myself as a writer of teleplays instead of novels and articles such as this one—the husband told me his favorite writer was Ayn Rand. “Ayn Rand, she came here with nothing,” the husband said. “I work with a lot of Cubans, so …” I wondered if I should mention what I usually do to ingratiate myself with Republicans or libertarians: the fact that my finances improved after pass-through corporations were taxed differently under Donald Trump. Instead, I ordered another drink and the couple did the same, and I told him that Rand and I were born in the same city, St. Petersburg/Leningrad, and that my family also came here with nothing. Now the bonding and drinking began in earnest, and several more rounds appeared. Until it all fell apart.

Read: Gary Shteyngart on watching Russian television for five days straight

My new friend, whom I will refer to as Ayn, called out to a buddy of his across the bar, and suddenly a young couple, both covered in tattoos, appeared next to us. “He fucking punked me,” Ayn’s frat-boy-like friend called out as he put his arm around Ayn, while his sizable partner sizzled up to Mrs. Rand. Both of them had a look I have never seen on land—their eyes projecting absence and enmity in equal measure. In the ’90s, I drank with Russian soldiers fresh from Chechnya and wandered the streets of wartime Zagreb, but I have never seen such undisguised hostility toward both me and perhaps the universe at large. I was briefly introduced to this psychopathic pair, but neither of them wanted to have anything to do with me, and the tattooed woman would not even reveal her Christian name to me (she pretended to have the same first name as Mrs. Rand). To impress his tattooed friends, Ayn made fun of the fact that as a television writer, I’d worked on the series Succession (which, it would turn out, practically nobody on the ship had watched), instead of the far more palatable, in his eyes, zombie drama of last year. And then my new friends drifted away from me into an angry private conversation—“He punked me!”—as I ordered another drink for myself, scared of the dead-eyed arrivals whose gaze never registered in the dim wattage of the Schooner Bar, whose terrifying voices and hollow laughs grated like unoiled gears against the crooning of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”

But today is a new day for me and my hangover. After breakfast, I explore the ship’s so-called neighborhoods . There’s the AquaDome, where one can find a food hall and an acrobatic sound-and-light aquatic show. Central Park has a premium steak house, a sushi joint, and a used Rolex that can be bought for $8,000 on land here proudly offered at $17,000. There’s the aforementioned Royal Promenade, where I had drunk with the Rands, and where a pair of dueling pianos duel well into the night. There’s Surfside, a kids’ neighborhood full of sugary garbage, which looks out onto the frothy trail that the behemoth leaves behind itself. Thrill Island refers to the collection of tubes that clutter the ass of the ship and offer passengers six waterslides and a surfing simulation. There’s the Hideaway, an adult zone that plays music from a vomit-slathered, Brit-filled Alicante nightclub circa 1996 and proves a big favorite with groups of young Latin American customers. And, most hurtfully, there’s the Suite Neighborhood.

I say hurtfully because as a Suite passenger I should be here, though my particular suite is far from the others. Whereas I am stuck amid the riffraff of Deck 11, this section is on the highborn Decks 16 and 17, and in passing, I peek into the spacious, tall-ceilinged staterooms from the hallway, dazzled by the glint of the waves and sun. For $75,000, one multifloor suite even comes with its own slide between floors, so that a family may enjoy this particular terror in private. There is a quiet splendor to the Suite Neighborhood. I see fewer stickers and signs and drawings than in my own neighborhood—for example, MIKE AND DIANA PROUDLY SERVED U.S. MARINE CORPS RETIRED . No one here needs to announce their branch of service or rank; they are simply Suites, and this is where they belong. Once again, despite my hard work and perseverance, I have been disallowed from the true American elite. Once again, I am “Not our class, dear.” I am reminded of watching The Love Boat on my grandmother’s Zenith, which either was given to her or we found in the trash (I get our many malfunctioning Zeniths confused) and whose tube got so hot, I would put little chunks of government cheese on a thin tissue atop it to give our welfare treat a pleasant, Reagan-era gooeyness. I could not understand English well enough then to catch the nuances of that seafaring program, but I knew that there were differences in the status of the passengers, and that sometimes those differences made them sad. Still, this ship, this plenty—every few steps, there are complimentary nachos or milkshakes or gyros on offer—was the fatty fuel of my childhood dreams. If only I had remained a child.

I walk around the outdoor decks looking for company. There is a middle-aged African American couple who always seem to be asleep in each other’s arms, probably exhausted from the late capitalism they regularly encounter on land. There is far more diversity on this ship than I expected. Many couples are a testament to Loving v. Virginia , and there is a large group of folks whose T-shirts read MELANIN AT SEA / IT’S THE MELANIN FOR ME . I smile when I see them, but then some young kids from the group makes Mr. Washy Washy do a cruel, caricatured “Burger Dance” (today he is in his burger getup), and I think, Well, so much for intersectionality .

At the infinity pool on Deck 17, I spot some elderly women who could be ethnic and from my part of the world, and so I jump in. I am proved correct! Many of them seem to be originally from Queens (“Corona was still great when it was all Italian”), though they are now spread across the tristate area. We bond over the way “Ron-kon-koma” sounds when announced in Penn Station.

“Everyone is here for a different reason,” one of them tells me. She and her ex-husband last sailed together four years ago to prove to themselves that their marriage was truly over. Her 15-year-old son lost his virginity to “an Irish young lady” while their ship was moored in Ravenna, Italy. The gaggle of old-timers competes to tell me their favorite cruising stories and tips. “A guy proposed in Central Park a couple of years ago”—many Royal Caribbean ships apparently have this ridiculous communal area—“and she ran away screaming!” “If you’re diamond-class, you get four drinks for free.” “A different kind of passenger sails out of Bayonne.” (This, perhaps, is racially coded.) “Sometimes, if you tip the bartender $5, your next drink will be free.”

“Everyone’s here for a different reason,” the woman whose marriage ended on a cruise tells me again. “Some people are here for bad reasons—the drinkers and the gamblers. Some people are here for medical reasons.” I have seen more than a few oxygen tanks and at least one woman clearly undergoing very serious chemo. Some T-shirts celebrate good news about a cancer diagnosis. This might be someone’s last cruise or week on Earth. For these women, who have spent months, if not years, at sea, cruising is a ritual as well as a life cycle: first love, last love, marriage, divorce, death.

Read: The last place on Earth any tourist should go

I have talked with these women for so long, tonight I promise myself that after a sad solitary dinner I will not try to seek out company at the bars in the mall or the adult-themed Hideaway. I have enough material to fulfill my duties to this publication. As I approach my orphaned suite, I run into the aggro young people who stole Mr. and Mrs. Rand away from me the night before. The tattooed apparitions pass me without a glance. She is singing something violent about “Stuttering Stanley” (a character in a popular horror movie, as I discover with my complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream Internet at Sea) and he’s loudly shouting about “all the money I’ve lost,” presumably at the casino in the bowels of the ship.

So these bent psychos out of a Cormac McCarthy novel are angrily inhabiting my deck. As I mewl myself to sleep, I envision a limited series for HBO or some other streamer, a kind of low-rent White Lotus , where several aggressive couples conspire to throw a shy intellectual interloper overboard. I type the scenario into my phone. As I fall asleep, I think of what the woman who recently divorced her husband and whose son became a man through the good offices of the Irish Republic told me while I was hoisting myself out of the infinity pool. “I’m here because I’m an explorer. I’m here because I’m trying something new.” What if I allowed myself to believe in her fantasy?

“YOU REALLY STARTED AT THE TOP,” they tell me. I’m at the Coastal Kitchen for my eggs and corned-beef hash, and the maître d’ has slotted me in between two couples. Fueled by coffee or perhaps intrigued by my relative youth, they strike up a conversation with me. As always, people are shocked that this is my first cruise. They contrast the Icon favorably with all the preceding liners in the Royal Caribbean fleet, usually commenting on the efficiency of the elevators that hurl us from deck to deck (as in many large corporate buildings, the elevators ask you to choose a floor and then direct you to one of many lifts). The couple to my right, from Palo Alto—he refers to his “porn mustache” and calls his wife “my cougar” because she is two years older—tell me they are “Pandemic Pinnacles.”

This is the day that my eyes will be opened. Pinnacles , it is explained to me over translucent cantaloupe, have sailed with Royal Caribbean for 700 ungodly nights. Pandemic Pinnacles took advantage of the two-for-one accrual rate of Pinnacle points during the pandemic, when sailing on a cruise ship was even more ill-advised, to catapult themselves into Pinnacle status.

Because of the importance of the inaugural voyage of the world’s largest cruise liner, more than 200 Pinnacles are on this ship, a startling number, it seems. Mrs. Palo Alto takes out a golden badge that I have seen affixed over many a breast, which reads CROWN AND ANCHOR SOCIETY along with her name. This is the coveted badge of the Pinnacle. “You should hear all the whining in Guest Services,” her husband tells me. Apparently, the Pinnacles who are not also Suites like us are all trying to use their status to get into Coastal Kitchen, our elite restaurant. Even a Pinnacle needs to be a Suite to access this level of corned-beef hash.

“We’re just baby Pinnacles,” Mrs. Palo Alto tells me, describing a kind of internal class struggle among the Pinnacle elite for ever higher status.

And now I understand what the maître d’ was saying to me on the first day of my cruise. He wasn’t saying “ pendejo .” He was saying “Pinnacle.” The dining room was for Pinnacles only, all those older people rolling in like the tide on their motorized scooters.

And now I understand something else: This whole thing is a cult. And like most cults, it can’t help but mirror the endless American fight for status. Like Keith Raniere’s NXIVM, where different-colored sashes were given out to connote rank among Raniere’s branded acolytes, this is an endless competition among Pinnacles, Suites, Diamond-Plusers, and facing-the-mall, no-balcony purple SeaPass Card peasants, not to mention the many distinctions within each category. The more you cruise, the higher your status. No wonder a section of the Royal Promenade is devoted to getting passengers to book their next cruise during the one they should be enjoying now. No wonder desperate Royal Caribbean offers (“FINAL HOURS”) crowded my email account weeks before I set sail. No wonder the ship’s jewelry store, the Royal Bling, is selling a $100,000 golden chalice that will entitle its owner to drink free on Royal Caribbean cruises for life. (One passenger was already gaming out whether her 28-year-old son was young enough to “just about earn out” on the chalice or if that ship had sailed.) No wonder this ship was sold out months before departure , and we had to pay $19,000 for a horrid suite away from the Suite Neighborhood. No wonder the most mythical hero of Royal Caribbean lore is someone named Super Mario, who has cruised so often, he now has his own working desk on many ships. This whole experience is part cult, part nautical pyramid scheme.

From the June 2014 issue: Ship of wonks

“The toilets are amazing,” the Palo Altos are telling me. “One flush and you’re done.” “They don’t understand how energy-efficient these ships are,” the husband of the other couple is telling me. “They got the LNG”—liquefied natural gas, which is supposed to make the Icon a boon to the environment (a concept widely disputed and sometimes ridiculed by environmentalists).

But I’m thinking along a different line of attack as I spear my last pallid slice of melon. For my streaming limited series, a Pinnacle would have to get killed by either an outright peasant or a Suite without an ocean view. I tell my breakfast companions my idea.

“Oh, for sure a Pinnacle would have to be killed,” Mr. Palo Alto, the Pandemic Pinnacle, says, touching his porn mustache thoughtfully as his wife nods.

“THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S your time, buddy!” Hubert, my fun-loving Panamanian cabin attendant, shouts as I step out of my suite in a robe. “Take it easy, buddy!”

I have come up with a new dressing strategy. Instead of trying to impress with my choice of T-shirts, I have decided to start wearing a robe, as one does at a resort property on land, with a proper spa and hammam. The response among my fellow cruisers has been ecstatic. “Look at you in the robe!” Mr. Rand cries out as we pass each other by the Thrill Island aqua park. “You’re living the cruise life! You know, you really drank me under the table that night.” I laugh as we part ways, but my soul cries out, Please spend more time with me, Mr. and Mrs. Rand; I so need the company .

In my white robe, I am a stately presence, a refugee from a better limited series, a one-man crossover episode. (Only Suites are granted these robes to begin with.) Today, I will try many of the activities these ships have on offer to provide their clientele with a sense of never-ceasing motion. Because I am already at Thrill Island, I decide to climb the staircase to what looks like a mast on an old-fashioned ship (terrified, because I am afraid of heights) to try a ride called “Storm Chasers,” which is part of the “Category 6” water park, named in honor of one of the storms that may someday do away with the Port of Miami entirely. Storm Chasers consists of falling from the “mast” down a long, twisting neon tube filled with water, like being the camera inside your own colonoscopy, as you hold on to the handles of a mat, hoping not to die. The tube then flops you down headfirst into a trough of water, a Royal Caribbean baptism. It both knocks my breath out and makes me sad.

In keeping with the aquatic theme, I attend a show at the AquaDome. To the sound of “Live and Let Die,” a man in a harness gyrates to and fro in the sultry air. I saw something very similar in the back rooms of the famed Berghain club in early-aughts Berlin. Soon another harnessed man is gyrating next to the first. Ja , I think to myself, I know how this ends. Now will come the fisting , natürlich . But the show soon devolves into the usual Marvel-film-grade nonsense, with too much light and sound signifying nichts . If any fisting is happening, it is probably in the Suite Neighborhood, inside a cabin marked with an upside-down pineapple, which I understand means a couple are ready to swing, and I will see none of it.

I go to the ice show, which is a kind of homage—if that’s possible—to the periodic table, done with the style and pomp and masterful precision that would please the likes of Kim Jong Un, if only he could afford Royal Caribbean talent. At one point, the dancers skate to the theme song of Succession . “See that!” I want to say to my fellow Suites—at “cultural” events, we have a special section reserved for us away from the commoners—“ Succession ! It’s even better than the zombie show! Open your minds!”

Finally, I visit a comedy revue in an enormous and too brightly lit version of an “intimate,” per Royal Caribbean literature, “Manhattan comedy club.” Many of the jokes are about the cruising life. “I’ve lived on ships for 20 years,” one of the middle-aged comedians says. “I can only see so many Filipino homosexuals dressed as a taco.” He pauses while the audience laughs. “I am so fired tonight,” he says. He segues into a Trump impression and then Biden falling asleep at the microphone, which gets the most laughs. “Anyone here from Fort Leonard Wood?” another comedian asks. Half the crowd seems to cheer. As I fall asleep that night, I realize another connection I have failed to make, and one that may explain some of the diversity on this vessel—many of its passengers have served in the military.

As a coddled passenger with a suite, I feel like I am starting to understand what it means to have a rank and be constantly reminded of it. There are many espresso makers , I think as I look across the expanse of my officer-grade quarters before closing my eyes, but this one is mine .

A shocking sight greets me beyond the pools of Deck 17 as I saunter over to the Coastal Kitchen for my morning intake of slightly sour Americanos. A tiny city beneath a series of perfectly pressed green mountains. Land! We have docked for a brief respite in Basseterre, the capital of St. Kitts and Nevis. I wolf down my egg scramble to be one of the first passengers off the ship. Once past the gangway, I barely refrain from kissing the ground. I rush into the sights and sounds of this scruffy island city, sampling incredible conch curry and buckets of non-Starbucks coffee. How wonderful it is to be where God intended humans to be: on land. After all, I am neither a fish nor a mall rat. This is my natural environment. Basseterre may not be Havana, but there are signs of human ingenuity and desire everywhere you look. The Black Table Grill Has been Relocated to Soho Village, Market Street, Directly Behind of, Gary’s Fruits and Flower Shop. Signed. THE PORK MAN reads a sign stuck to a wall. Now, that is how you write a sign. A real sign, not the come-ons for overpriced Rolexes that blink across the screens of the Royal Promenade.

“Hey, tie your shoestring!” a pair of laughing ladies shout to me across the street.

“Thank you!” I shout back. Shoestring! “Thank you very much.”

A man in Independence Square Park comes by and asks if I want to play with his monkey. I haven’t heard that pickup line since the Penn Station of the 1980s. But then he pulls a real monkey out of a bag. The monkey is wearing a diaper and looks insane. Wonderful , I think, just wonderful! There is so much life here. I email my editor asking if I can remain on St. Kitts and allow the Icon to sail off into the horizon without me. I have even priced a flight home at less than $300, and I have enough material from the first four days on the cruise to write the entire story. “It would be funny …” my editor replies. “Now get on the boat.”

As I slink back to the ship after my brief jailbreak, the locals stand under umbrellas to gaze at and photograph the boat that towers over their small capital city. The limousines of the prime minister and his lackeys are parked beside the gangway. St. Kitts, I’ve been told, is one of the few islands that would allow a ship of this size to dock.

“We hear about all the waterslides,” a sweet young server in one of the cafés told me. “We wish we could go on the ship, but we have to work.”

“I want to stay on your island,” I replied. “I love it here.”

But she didn’t understand how I could possibly mean that.

“WASHY, WASHY, so you don’t get stinky, stinky!” kids are singing outside the AquaDome, while their adult minders look on in disapproval, perhaps worried that Mr. Washy Washy is grooming them into a life of gayness. I heard a southern couple skip the buffet entirely out of fear of Mr. Washy Washy.

Meanwhile, I have found a new watering hole for myself, the Swim & Tonic, the biggest swim-up bar on any cruise ship in the world. Drinking next to full-size, nearly naked Americans takes away one’s own self-consciousness. The men have curvaceous mom bodies. The women are equally un-shy about their sprawling physiques.

Today I’ve befriended a bald man with many children who tells me that all of the little trinkets that Royal Caribbean has left us in our staterooms and suites are worth a fortune on eBay. “Eighty dollars for the water bottle, 60 for the lanyard,” the man says. “This is a cult.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. There is, however, a clientele for whom this cruise makes perfect sense. For a large middle-class family (he works in “supply chains”), seven days in a lower-tier cabin—which starts at $1,800 a person—allow the parents to drop off their children in Surfside, where I imagine many young Filipina crew members will take care of them, while the parents are free to get drunk at a swim-up bar and maybe even get intimate in their cabin. Cruise ships have become, for a certain kind of hardworking family, a form of subsidized child care.

There is another man I would like to befriend at the Swim & Tonic, a tall, bald fellow who is perpetually inebriated and who wears a necklace studded with little rubber duckies in sunglasses, which, I am told, is a sort of secret handshake for cruise aficionados. Tomorrow, I will spend more time with him, but first the ship docks at St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Charlotte Amalie, the capital, is more charming in name than in presence, but I still all but jump off the ship to score a juicy oxtail and plantains at the well-known Petite Pump Room, overlooking the harbor. From one of the highest points in the small city, the Icon of the Seas appears bigger than the surrounding hills.

I usually tan very evenly, but something about the discombobulation of life at sea makes me forget the regular application of sunscreen. As I walk down the streets of Charlotte Amalie in my fluorescent Icon of the Seas cap, an old Rastafarian stares me down. “Redneck,” he hisses.

“No,” I want to tell him, as I bring a hand up to my red neck, “that’s not who I am at all. On my island, Mannahatta, as Whitman would have it, I am an interesting person living within an engaging artistic milieu. I do not wish to use the Caribbean as a dumping ground for the cruise-ship industry. I love the work of Derek Walcott. You don’t understand. I am not a redneck. And if I am, they did this to me.” They meaning Royal Caribbean? Its passengers? The Rands?

“They did this to me!”

Back on the Icon, some older matrons are muttering about a run-in with passengers from the Celebrity cruise ship docked next to us, the Celebrity Apex. Although Celebrity Cruises is also owned by Royal Caribbean, I am made to understand that there is a deep fratricidal beef between passengers of the two lines. “We met a woman from the Apex,” one matron says, “and she says it was a small ship and there was nothing to do. Her face was as tight as a 19-year-old’s, she had so much surgery.” With those words, and beneath a cloudy sky, humidity shrouding our weathered faces and red necks, we set sail once again, hopefully in the direction of home.

THERE ARE BARELY 48 HOURS LEFT to the cruise, and the Icon of the Seas’ passengers are salty. They know how to work the elevators. They know the Washy Washy song by heart. They understand that the chicken gyro at “Feta Mediterranean,” in the AquaDome Market, is the least problematic form of chicken on the ship.

The passengers have shed their INAUGURAL CRUISE T-shirts and are now starting to evince political opinions. There are caps pledging to make America great again and T-shirts that celebrate words sometimes attributed to Patrick Henry: “The Constitution is not an instrument for the government to restrain the people; it is an instrument for the people to restrain the government.” With their preponderance of FAMILY FLAG FAITH FRIENDS FIREARMS T-shirts, the tables by the crepe station sometimes resemble the Capitol Rotunda on January 6. The Real Anthony Fauci , by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., appears to be a popular form of literature, especially among young men with very complicated versions of the American flag on their T-shirts. Other opinions blend the personal and the political. “Someone needs to kill Washy guy, right?” a well-dressed man in the elevator tells me, his gray eyes radiating nothing. “Just beat him to death. Am I right?” I overhear the male member of a young couple whisper, “There goes that freak” as I saunter by in my white spa robe, and I decide to retire it for the rest of the cruise.

I visit the Royal Bling to see up close the $100,000 golden chalice that entitles you to free drinks on Royal Caribbean forever. The pleasant Serbian saleslady explains that the chalice is actually gold-plated and covered in white zirconia instead of diamonds, as it would otherwise cost $1 million. “If you already have everything,” she explains, “this is one more thing you can get.”

I believe that anyone who works for Royal Caribbean should be entitled to immediate American citizenship. They already speak English better than most of the passengers and, per the Serbian lady’s sales pitch above, better understand what America is as well. Crew members like my Panamanian cabin attendant seem to work 24 hours a day. A waiter from New Delhi tells me that his contract is six months and three weeks long. After a cruise ends, he says, “in a few hours, we start again for the next cruise.” At the end of the half a year at sea, he is allowed a two-to-three-month stay at home with his family. As of 2019, the median income for crew members was somewhere in the vicinity of $20,000, according to a major business publication. Royal Caribbean would not share the current median salary for its crew members, but I am certain that it amounts to a fraction of the cost of a Royal Bling gold-plated, zirconia-studded chalice.

And because most of the Icon’s hyper-sanitized spaces are just a frittata away from being a Delta lounge, one forgets that there are actual sailors on this ship, charged with the herculean task of docking it in port. “Having driven 100,000-ton aircraft carriers throughout my career,” retired Admiral James G. Stavridis, the former NATO Supreme Allied Commander Europe, writes to me, “I’m not sure I would even know where to begin with trying to control a sea monster like this one nearly three times the size.” (I first met Stavridis while touring Army bases in Germany more than a decade ago.)

Today, I decide to head to the hot tub near Swim & Tonic, where some of the ship’s drunkest reprobates seem to gather (the other tubs are filled with families and couples). The talk here, like everywhere else on the ship, concerns football, a sport about which I know nothing. It is apparent that four teams have recently competed in some kind of finals for the year, and that two of them will now face off in the championship. Often when people on the Icon speak, I will try to repeat the last thing they said with a laugh or a nod of disbelief. “Yes, 20-yard line! Ha!” “Oh my God, of course, scrimmage.”

Soon we are joined in the hot tub by the late-middle-age drunk guy with the duck necklace. He is wearing a bucket hat with the legend HAWKEYES , which, I soon gather, is yet another football team. “All right, who turned me in?” Duck Necklace says as he plops into the tub beside us. “I get a call in the morning,” he says. “It’s security. Can you come down to the dining room by 10 a.m.? You need to stay away from the members of this religious family.” Apparently, the gregarious Duck Necklace had photobombed the wrong people. There are several families who present as evangelical Christians or practicing Muslims on the ship. One man, evidently, was not happy that Duck Necklace had made contact with his relatives. “It’s because of religious stuff; he was offended. I put my arm around 20 people a day.”

Everyone laughs. “They asked me three times if I needed medication,” he says of the security people who apparently interrogated him in full view of others having breakfast.

Another hot-tub denizen suggests that he should have asked for fentanyl. After a few more drinks, Duck Necklace begins to muse about what it would be like to fall off the ship. “I’m 62 and I’m ready to go,” he says. “I just don’t want a shark to eat me. I’m a huge God guy. I’m a Bible guy. There’s some Mayan theory squaring science stuff with religion. There is so much more to life on Earth.” We all nod into our Red Stripes.

“I never get off the ship when we dock,” he says. He tells us he lost $6,000 in the casino the other day. Later, I look him up, and it appears that on land, he’s a financial adviser in a crisp gray suit, probably a pillar of his North Chicago community.

THE OCEAN IS TEEMING with fascinating life, but on the surface it has little to teach us. The waves come and go. The horizon remains ever far away.

I am constantly told by my fellow passengers that “everybody here has a story.” Yes, I want to reply, but everybody everywhere has a story. You, the reader of this essay, have a story, and yet you’re not inclined to jump on a cruise ship and, like Duck Necklace, tell your story to others at great pitch and volume. Maybe what they’re saying is that everybody on this ship wants to have a bigger, more coherent, more interesting story than the one they’ve been given. Maybe that’s why there’s so much signage on the doors around me attesting to marriages spent on the sea. Maybe that’s why the Royal Caribbean newsletter slipped under my door tells me that “this isn’t a vacation day spent—it’s bragging rights earned.” Maybe that’s why I’m so lonely.

Today is a big day for Icon passengers. Today the ship docks at Royal Caribbean’s own Bahamian island, the Perfect Day at CocoCay. (This appears to be the actual name of the island.) A comedian at the nightclub opined on what his perfect day at CocoCay would look like—receiving oral sex while learning that his ex-wife had been killed in a car crash (big laughter). But the reality of the island is far less humorous than that.

One of the ethnic tristate ladies in the infinity pool told me that she loved CocoCay because it had exactly the same things that could be found on the ship itself. This proves to be correct. It is like the Icon, but with sand. The same tired burgers, the same colorful tubes conveying children and water from Point A to B. The same swim-up bar at its Hideaway ($140 for admittance, no children allowed; Royal Caribbean must be printing money off its clientele). “There was almost a fight at The Wizard of Oz ,” I overhear an elderly woman tell her companion on a chaise lounge. Apparently one of the passengers began recording Royal Caribbean’s intellectual property and “three guys came after him.”

I walk down a pathway to the center of the island, where a sign reads DO NOT ENTER: YOU HAVE REACHED THE BOUNDARY OF ADVENTURE . I hear an animal scampering in the bushes. A Royal Caribbean worker in an enormous golf cart soon chases me down and takes me back to the Hideaway, where I run into Mrs. Rand in a bikini. She becomes livid telling me about an altercation she had the other day with a woman over a towel and a deck chair. We Suites have special towel privileges; we do not have to hand over our SeaPass Card to score a towel. But the Rands are not Suites. “People are so entitled here,” Mrs. Rand says. “It’s like the airport with all its classes.” “You see,” I want to say, “this is where your husband’s love of Ayn Rand runs into the cruelties and arbitrary indignities of unbridled capitalism.” Instead we make plans to meet for a final drink in the Schooner Bar tonight (the Rands will stand me up).

Back on the ship, I try to do laps, but the pool (the largest on any cruise ship, naturally) is fully trashed with the detritus of American life: candy wrappers, a slowly dissolving tortilla chip, napkins. I take an extra-long shower in my suite, then walk around the perimeter of the ship on a kind of exercise track, past all the alluring lifeboats in their yellow-and-white livery. Maybe there is a dystopian angle to the HBO series that I will surely end up pitching, one with shades of WALL-E or Snowpiercer . In a collapsed world, a Royal Caribbean–like cruise liner sails from port to port, collecting new shipmates and supplies in exchange for the precious energy it has on board. (The actual Icon features a new technology that converts passengers’ poop into enough energy to power the waterslides . In the series, this shitty technology would be greatly expanded.) A very young woman (18? 19?), smart and lonely, who has only known life on the ship, walks along the same track as I do now, contemplating jumping off into the surf left by its wake. I picture reusing Duck Necklace’s words in the opening shot of the pilot. The girl is walking around the track, her eyes on the horizon; maybe she’s highborn—a Suite—and we hear the voice-over: “I’m 19 and I’m ready to go. I just don’t want a shark to eat me.”

Before the cruise is finished, I talk to Mr. Washy Washy, or Nielbert of the Philippines. He is a sweet, gentle man, and I thank him for the earworm of a song he has given me and for keeping us safe from the dreaded norovirus. “This is very important to me, getting people to wash their hands,” he tells me in his burger getup. He has dreams, as an artist and a performer, but they are limited in scope. One day he wants to dress up as a piece of bacon for the morning shift.

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC (the Icon of the Seas is five times as large as that doomed vessel) at least offered its passengers an exciting ending to their cruise, but when I wake up on the eighth day, all I see are the gray ghosts that populate Miami’s condo skyline. Throughout my voyage, my writer friends wrote in to commiserate with me. Sloane Crosley, who once covered a three-day spa mini-cruise for Vogue , tells me she felt “so very alone … I found it very untethering.” Gideon Lewis-Kraus writes in an Instagram comment: “When Gary is done I think it’s time this genre was taken out back and shot.” And he is right. To badly paraphrase Adorno: After this, no more cruise stories. It is unfair to put a thinking person on a cruise ship. Writers typically have difficult childhoods, and it is cruel to remind them of the inherent loneliness that drove them to writing in the first place. It is also unseemly to write about the kind of people who go on cruises. Our country does not provide the education and upbringing that allow its citizens an interior life. For the creative class to point fingers at the large, breasty gentlemen adrift in tortilla-chip-laden pools of water is to gather a sour harvest of low-hanging fruit.

A day or two before I got off the ship, I decided to make use of my balcony, which I had avoided because I thought the view would only depress me further. What I found shocked me. My suite did not look out on Central Park after all. This entire time, I had been living in the ship’s Disneyland, Surfside, the neighborhood full of screaming toddlers consuming milkshakes and candy. And as I leaned out over my balcony, I beheld a slight vista of the sea and surf that I thought I had been missing. It had been there all along. The sea was frothy and infinite and blue-green beneath the span of a seagull’s wing. And though it had been trod hard by the world’s largest cruise ship, it remained.

This article appears in the May 2024 print edition with the headline “A Meatball at Sea.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

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The Hard Problem of Bringing Trump Into Focus

For all the news that the former president makes, the Biden team is struggling to make the campaign about him.

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By Jason Zengerle

The video shows Donald Trump standing at a gilded lectern in Mar-a-Lago. It’s December, a week or so before Christmas, and the former president is addressing a group of donors.

“You are all people that have a lot of money!” Trump tells them. “I know 20 of you, and you’re rich as hell !”

As the deep-pocketed crowd whoops and laughs, Trump presses on, asking them to “quadruple” whatever they originally intended to give. Eventually, he arrives at the quo for their quid. “We’re going to give you tax cuts,” Trump promises, to even louder cheers.

The video, which appears to have been shot with a camera phone, was livestreamed to Facebook by a Mar-a-Lago member. It called to mind another video, of another rich Republican presidential candidate speaking candidly to another crowd of rich donors, from nearly a dozen years earlier. In that video, which was secretly recorded by a bartender and leaked to the liberal magazine Mother Jones, Mitt Romney denigrated the 47 percent of Americans who pay no income tax as freeloaders who don’t “take personal responsibility and care for their lives.” The “47 percent” video, as it came to be known, sent Romney’s campaign into a tailspin from which it never recovered. But the video of Trump sucking up to the 1 percent barely caused a ripple. Outside of a handful of liberal blogs, it essentially vanished into the ether.

The contrast raises a perennial question: What does move the needle when it comes to Donald Trump? While there’s no denying that the businessman and former reality-TV star has dominated American politics since the moment he came down the Trump Tower escalator nine years ago — that rarely an hour, much a less day, has gone by when his name or picture hasn’t been on our screens — it can often seem as if we now accept this dominance as a fact of life without really focusing on it. His bluster has become, essentially, background noise to our daily lives.

This, in a nutshell, is what Joe Biden’s campaign believes to be its biggest structural problem — that the race does not yet sufficiently revolve around Trump. It attributes the polls that have shown him trailing Trump for the last eight months to the fact that voters do not realize, or have not fully grappled with the reality, that Trump will be on the ballot in November. Once they do, the Biden team appears convinced, they’ll remember all the reasons they sent Trump packing four years ago.

For a time, it seemed Biden thought that Trump’s clinching the Republican nomination, which he did in March, would cause voters to focus on the former president. Then the hope appeared to be that Trump’s having to show up in a New York City courtroom, and the resulting media frenzy, would bring his opponent to the front of voters’ minds. Neither really did the trick. Now the Biden campaign is trying to take matters into its own hands.

‘No Idea What He’s Talking About’

One way the campaign has tried to advance this effort is with an unusual series of “reaction videos” on social media. In April, more than four months after Trump’s “rich as hell” video appeared and then vanished from the internet, Biden’s team resurrected it by releasing its own video that embedded the clip of Trump as the top half of a split screen.

On the bottom, Biden is standing with Bernie Sanders. Biden holds an iPad, which he and Sanders look at, apparently watching Trump on the device, grimacing. After the clip of Trump is over, Biden and Sanders occupy the full screen. Still holding his iPad but now looking up and addressing the camera, Biden asks: “This is his economic plan? That’s what he wants to do? Cutting taxes for his friends and cutting Social Security for you?” Sanders adds, “The hypocrisy is just outrageous.”

The video is one in a series that Biden began posting to X (formerly known as Twitter) in January that feature him watching, on a smartphone or a tablet, a clip from some Trump speech or interview and then offering a cutting response. In another, Biden is reacting to a video of Trump as he tries to escape the backlash to the overturning of Roe v. Wade by saying that abortion restrictions should be left to the states. This tees up Biden to declare: “Donald Trump is the reason Roe was ended. If you re-elect me, I’ll be the reason why it’s restored.” In a third, after listening to a clip of Trump discussing entitlement cuts, Biden concludes, “This man has no idea what he’s talking about” — which is essentially the vibe of the entire series.

The videos do something subtle for Biden. Having him watch Trump on a device that he operates — rather than, say, on a television — makes him look reasonably dexterous with technology, at least for an 81-year-old grandfather. And although Biden’s snappy comebacks were almost certainly workshopped by advisers and perhaps even required multiple takes, there’s a spontaneous, off-the-cuff quality to them that suggests an agile mind, something that a 30-second ad or an hour-plus State of the Union address can struggle to achieve.

As proof of concept, they’re successful enough, but they’re unlikely to find their way to anyone who isn’t already addicted to politics. And they’re unlikely to change anyone’s mind about Trump.

Flipping Positions on Debates

This preoccupation with putting Trump into clear focus is also the right way to understand the tug of war over debates. Until a couple of weeks ago, it very much looked as if, for the first time in more than 50 years, we were not going to have a debate between the two major parties’ presidential candidates. In the past four years, the candidates have flipped positions on the issue of debates: Although Trump bailed on one of the three scheduled debates with Biden in 2020 and refused to participate in any of the Republican primary debates in this current election, once he sensed he might have a strategic advantage being onstage with Biden in this race, he suddenly became a debate evangelist, challenging Biden to debate him “any time, any place.” Biden, meanwhile, appeared to be terrified of the prospect, repeatedly refusing to commit to a debate with Trump, at one point saying “it depends on his behavior.”

Trump’s behavior didn’t change, but Biden ultimately agreed to the debates for the same reason he made the videos: He needs this election to be about Trump. “Don’t compare me to the almighty,” Biden is fond of saying, “compare me to the alternative.” Biden believes that debating Trump may be the only way to get voters to focus on his opponent.

The conditions Biden demanded for the debates also follow the logic of the videos. Instead of agreeing to the debates proposed by the Commission on Presidential Debates — which, per tradition, would have been held in front of a live audience — Biden stipulated that the debates be held in a TV studio with just the two candidates and the moderators. Moreover, for the first debate, scheduled for June 27, the Biden campaign has requested that the candidates’ microphones be active only during their allotted speaking times. Just as in the videos, Trump and Biden will be going head to head; just as in the videos, Biden will be able to get a word in edgewise.

Despite Trump’s four years in the White House — despite his having taken over one of our two major political parties, remade it in his image and bent it to his will — he continues to be, in many ways, more of a media creature (and creation) than a political one. That is his greatest strength, liberating him from some Washington rules and expectations, but at the same time, it is also a vulnerability — making it easy to reduce him to something freakish, laughable and, above all, small. The X videos do something like that by essentially aligning Biden with the voters. Just like them, he’s watching and gawking at Trump. In one video, Biden listens to Trump bizarrely compare himself to Aleksei Navalny. “What’s he talking about?” Biden asks.

For Biden, the debates will have been worth it if the image voters take away from them is not necessarily of him, appearing vigorous or quick on his feet, but rather of his opponent — bereft of a cheering crowd, shouting into a turned-off microphone. And if not, then Biden will have to figure out some other way to make this race about the alternative.

Or he’ll have to concede that voters already know everything they need to know about Trump — and that their problem is with the White House’s current occupant.

Screenshot for opening illustration from X. Source photographs: Getty Images.

Jason Zengerle is a contributing writer for the magazine. He last wrote about moderate Democrats .

Our Coverage of the 2024 Election

Presidential Race: News and Analysis

Donald Trump’s conviction on nearly three dozen felony counts  plunges the country into unmapped political terrain , a rare moment that could reshuffle a 2024 race  that for months has been locked in stasis and defined by a polarizing former president.

President Biden’s absence in the hours after Trump was found guilty testified to the awkward position confronting  the current occupant of the White House when it comes to holding his predecessor accountable.

Moments after a jury found Donald Trump guilty on all 34 counts  in his hush-money trial, he worked his conviction into the story of persecution  at the center of his presidential campaign.

Fixing Social Security:  A small tax increase would make the essential national retirement program  secure for decades, our columnist says, but lawmakers would have to take action.

Flip-Flopping on Abortion:  Republican candidates in the country’s most competitive Senate races have changed their approach on the issue of abortion , softening their rhetoric, shifting their positions and even embracing policies championed by Democrats.

New Jersey Senate and House Races:  On June 4, Democrats and Republicans will choose nominees  for the U.S. Senate. In the House, Representative Rob Menendez faces a strong primary challenge.

Clashing Appeals to Black Voters:  Biden and Trump both see Black outreach as critical to winning in November. But their approaches differ in fundamental and revealing ways .