Given my predilection to that most leisurely sin -- sloth -- I must come clean and make it clear that I am not corporate material. In fact, I have tried to make a go of it in the corporate world -- and despite my father's highest hopes, I failed. Granted, it's easy to fall flat on your face when you father owns the company. Let's slate this to a failure of nepotism and my own reticence to delegate to subordinates who were far more qualified that me. Now, given my utter corporate failure, I must say my six months in the workforce did bring me one of my most precious joys.
My father -- a rather sentimental fellow -- has made it a tradition to host an annual corporate yacht charter wherein the men and women who dedicate eight hours of every weekday to him can unwind and mingle. This summer wind of relaxation always comes as a welcome break from the usual pace of business. I recall attending these yacht parties as a young man, honored to be amongst the best and brightest of my father's cadre. Surprisingly, there was a sharp difference between attending as a family member as opposed to a lackluster employee.
Though I enjoyed those summer nights as a young man, I did not truly come to appreciate the yacht cruise until I had to withstand the withering glances of an entire workforce, convinced -- rightly so -- of my incompetence. Perhaps it was because I could not turn to any friends or family members that night, but I I found myself entranced by the ocean, the breeze, the way the coast drifted by as evening fell. A tumbler of Scotch in one hand, the other gripping the rail, I did not know then that what was happening was something deep, dark, and utter delirious.
Now -- well...now I write. Not because I have to, but because I'm compelled to. So, when a task appears in my electronic mail box, I have the blessed option of accepting it as a mission impossible -- or not. When I'm compelled to wax philosophic about cruises and yachts and drifting about at sea, well, what can I say? As Sinatra croons about summer breezes lingering, I find myself enraptured and somehow, oddly, a bit sad. Yes, even raconteurs get the blues. A toast, then, to the boats -- the big boats -- that take us away and set us adrift on placid waves and heady dreams.
If you would like to reserve a corporate yacht charter, you would be well-advised to book in advance.
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