I was particularly excited about this adventure because of the manatees' appearance as one of the most perfectly useless, patently serene and purposely sleepy creatures. My A-type overachieving brain just couldn't believe that something this calm and aimless could survive in our Darwinian world. I wanted to make sure they were in fact what they seemed, and perhaps absorb some of their serenity.
I committed to turning off my phone and iPad, disconnecting from my modern world, in order to experience the manatee utopia in all its quiet glory. I wanted to walk on the serene side. I needed these amazing creatures to slow down my brain, fill my heart and send me back into my world with a more peaceful perspective on my day to day.
I know, that's a lot of expectations to put on creatures that can't even manage to thrive as a species without man's intervention. But surely their pinnacle of peace had to rub off on me one way or another.
At 6:30am Saturday morning, reality set in and I began to suspect that this might not be the spiritual retreat I was craving. The fact that I had any realization at 6:30am on a vacation Saturday morning should have clued me into the fact that "sea cows" weren't going to calm my spirit and have me humming Kumbaya any time soon.
We threw together gear in a coffee deprived fog and rushed to meet our boat at the dock for the appointed 8:00am take off, only to have to wait almost an hour for the dive boat operator to get this show going. By the time we finally arrived at the first manatee viewing area, it was clear I wasn't the only one wanting manatee-inspired serenity.
In fact, when my friend texted asking how our trip went after we got back, I summed up my manatee experience this way.
How was your manatee adventure?
A lot like Disney World. Overcrowded with dumb tourists, and you either have to beat the crowds at the crack of dawn or wait in a long line for them to clear out. And, to top it off, I got the odd sense of exiting through the gift shop everywhere we went.
Now in defense of the awesome people and businesses in Crystal River, Florida, I'd sell the heck out the fact that I had endangered rolly-polly cuties in my back yard too. I'd have a So Ugly They're Cute and They Won't Be Around Much Longer Festival to celebrate them and finance my home improvements to show them off. After all, sales and marketing are my thing.
But giving hapless A-type tourists the impression that they could completely unwind and live like a manatee in purposeless tranquility, even for a weekend, might be where I drew the line.
Finally, after sifting through the tons of bottom silt thrown up into the water by throngs of fin-wearing tourists, I saw and interacted with some manatees. It was more than worth the price of admission. They are sweet and cute and playful and lazy. They are so ugly they're cute. And while it's one I may never understand, they have personality.
And so do I. My personality is driven and busy and well-planned and perfectly purposeful. I am the anti-manatee. But that's OK. Because we're both in the universe, there is balance.
Watching the A-type rangers and volunteers bark orders and quote signs and videos to inconsiderate tourists made me realize, manatees need us just the way we are. They need us to protect them. The fact that they need us to protect them from us is a whole nother conundrum to tackle another day.
For now, I am walking away from this once in a lifetime experience with the peace that God made me just the way I am, on purpose. And an "I heart Manatees" t-shirt.
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