Bali, Bora Bora, Capri, Maui. No doubt you’ve gotten wind of the names before. Now rack your brains for someone you know who’s actually from such an island.
Probably not the hometown of your five closest friends.
Makes sense, doesn’t it? An island doesn’t hold half as many people as an island country (which is different), forget a normal country which makes up part of a massive continent.
That’s not to say a given island can’t produce the caliber of person any other kind of land in the world can.
Napoleon Bonaparte was born on Corsica. Barack Obama was born on Oahu.
In fact, Obama credits his Hawaiian roots for his love of nature as well as his ability to keep calm in trying situations.
But what is it about island life that so captures the imagination? What gets some among us to plan for it with all our prophesying might? — To even go ahead with a sudden move when we have it good?
There’s the most obvious answer to the pull of island life: Weather.
If it’s an island worth talking about, it probably has sublime weather. That most of us prefer a balmy climate is practically indisputable.
Besides the association (and rhyme) of sun with fun, countless studies have shown that sunshine directly correlates with higher levels of happiness. A tan, even being burnt, symbolizes a satisfying vacation. The beach getaway seems to be far and away the trendiest of travel options around.
After all, most of us live in cities and towns, so cut those. And while the mountains and various other nature retreats are a fantastic time, they don’t come close to the echo of waves and walking around barefoot in nothing but rags and shades.
Much of the world has seasons. It’s easy, then, to dismiss the same old four-part sequence for one long run of summer. It’s not everywhere you go that has months on end of uninterrupted high noon-like heat.
Tying into the weather is the way of living. The lifestyle.
What does one do in a place of limited modern entertainment? Where locals don’t know designer brands, don’t hold down 9–5 jobs, don’t understand the concept of “in a hurry” and haven’t heard of the Kardashians?
Okay, the Kardashian bit might be a stretch.
But the point is, in an island environment, you get back to basics. Your range of activities isn’t endless. You have the great outdoors. That can be hiking and all manner of marine sports.
Malls are scarce, as are movie theaters and popping bars and clubs. Forget amusement parks and department stores.
Truth be told, it can somewhat boring some nights. That feeling’s harder to stomach when you see on social media even strangers painting the town. Here you are, isolated, in a town yourself but one whose average building is three floors.
But if you’re considering a move to an island in the first place, there’s a good chance living it up in the big city isn’t your thing to begin with.
In that case, simplifying what there is to do is a relief. You don’t have to waste time going out and bar-hopping because that’s what your urbanite peers enjoy. In this way, being a resident of an island really is nice. You can skip all the fluff of shopping and crashing parties, and focus on therapeutic, nature-based pastimes.
Spending your days is also about how you survive. That means food, your consumption habits.
On an island, it’s not uncommon to grow your own fruit. In my backyard, we have an orange tree, a banana tree, and an avocado tree — or more like a small plant. My neighbors grow their own lettuce. My ex-classmate has chickens and cows, i.e., fresh eggs and milk at the snap of his fingers.
All of this contributes to the idea that you’re leading a more wholesome, grassroots life. And you probably are (it’s a fact that dining out at restaurants can cause serious weight gain and eventual heart problems).
Farmers’ markets and, or, local grocers are popular — humungous chain supermarkets may exist, but locally-grown is preferred — and since you’re surrounded by water, there’s always fishing. My uncle fishes to his heart’s content, and to the gourmet pleasure of family.
Well and what about the laidback, slow pace aspect of island life?
That crazy, hectic, sleep-deprived mode is reserved for cities. The French even have an expression for it: Métro, boulot, dodo.
But what is life if it’s just work, work, work?
Once you touch down and have the island beneath your feet, you’ll leave your on-the-go function switched permanently off.
The concept of time isn’t as entrenched in your mind when you’re walking here and there on an island. And if you do register it’s getting late, it’s only by the sun setting — and that’s a pretty sweet reminder if you ask me.
Whereas in the city you’re running to catch the public transportation, on an island riding a moped or driving a car, or just hoofing it is truer to the island spirit. And if it’s travel time to get from A to B, it’s often scenic. No pushing and shoving, no backlog of traffic. Instead, a view of the water and the horizon, and always lots of natural light shining down.
For all the perks of island life, it’s not without its fair share of drawbacks. There’s the sense of isolation that can kick in no matter how much you’re loving it. If not for the city’s playground feel, then for the opportunity to connect with others.
Food and products can sell out fast. What food and products you can’t get locally will have to be imported, so you have the time that takes plus the shipping costs.
Psychologically, island life can represent more of a vacation-esque life, not one that’s practical forever. You might end up having doubts about whether it’s right to be savoring what’s only dreamed of, not what’s actually done by the majority of civilization.
But these are minor, and in the grand scheme of things, you’ll be having too much fun to worry about anything else.
Waking to a sunbeam on your face revs up your cheerful engine and sends you into the day with a light, at peace attitude.
You’ll begin to see the beauty of something as tedious as picking up groceries around the corner at a mart that doesn’t even have a sign. You’ll be able to waste time and not be ashamed. The time you do have doesn’t race ahead. It crawls at your pace. Soon you’ll forget what time is all together.
If you’re up for a complete 180°, drop that office job and buy a one-way ticket. If it doesn’t pan out, at least you’ll have one heck of a story.
