All That is Sacred

Lost Time, New Idols

The Florida breeze shook palm fronds in all directions in the bright blue sky, which was braided with dramatic and dimensional clouds. The bushy floral leaves near the earth made modest ripples and pleasing scents—soft and sweet and citrus. Iguanas waddled between trees and buildings—pink and white and wood.

It was my first full day in Boca Grande, since I was a child, and I was going with my godmother to a showing of an artistic, colorful movie, which I’d severely underestimated up to the point of its showing. The film was about Thomas McGuane, Jimmy Buffet, and Jim Harrison—legendary writers and musicians and fishermen, living and creating in the artist and pirate commune of Key West Florida before it became colonized by modern commerce—back when it existed at the fringe of control, and civilization.

The film was about art and its cost. It was about friendship and the impermanence of beauty. It was about times and places that cease to exist.

I was in Florida to meet with Thomas McGuane in person—a superbly talented and accomplished novelist and short story writer, a new idol, and apparent “fan of mine.” The latter characteristic is one of the most humbling and inspiring moments of my nascent writing career. He’d read an excerpt of my short novel, The Business Park, and liked it enough to advocate on my behalf to a few major publications.

As the film wrapped up, and a Scott Ballew song played, I was flushed with emotion, which crossed beneath my chest in all directions—regret, inspiration, nostalgia, hope. When the credits rolled and the song haunted the space, I could feel un-fulfilled tears welling behind my eyes. I asked myself where the fringe worlds were now? Is it possible to dedicate your life to art in this busy, digital world—to be a true artist? Did I have the time and energy to fight so hard against the tides of the time?

Was it going to be worth it?

I spent the next two days ducking late-night into bars with my book, spending time with my godmother, and meeting with Tom and other writers in the late stages of their artistic journeys. I watched intently as Tom McGuane spoke about fanaticism and change—about stripping yourself clean of all distractions and leaving yourself with nothing but your craft—your talent—your obsession. About the elements involved and the commitment that it took to be great.

I was deeply affected by my experience—the vibrant community, the elliptical poetry of the landscape, and the words of a man I’d grown to respect. It was art and nature and admirable sociality. In those days, I was fed something I didn’t know I needed to survive—an artist to truly admire. To emulate. To strive to be like.

I took early mornings to swim alone in the Gulf, lay among the small mounds of succulents and read, let my feet press into the soft pink sand, and I gave myself precious minutes in the evening to see color blown across the sky before the darkness washed it away.

I left Boca Grande with a complicated feeling that things might have changed too much to accomplish what others did in the way that they did them, but that for the first time in a long while, I could find my own way—that I could find my own Key West, like the often tortured and creative and purposeful men in the film. I’d just have to be more creative, and committed, and true.

It is worth noting that the film’s title.

All That is Sacred.

I suggest that you watch it.