I was about six months deep into my two year contract and island fever crept up on my ass like a stranger in a dark alley. Up until that point, I had settled quite comfortably into my new lifestyle as the Pilates/Fitness instructor on a private resort island in Turks & Caicos. The stress of NYC’s daily grind, my chaotic schedule plus the sensory overload of the concrete jungle were buried in the depths of tranquil Caribbean waters.
Living in Turks & Caicos has inspired me to see nature through the eyes of a child again. I see clouds shaped liked dogs and dragons. I count stars and make wishes on them. I dream of lounging on crescent moons. And I listen to the secrets of trees as their leaves rustle through the wind.
After living on this private resort island for the last five months, anything other than food from the Staff Cafeteria (which we call "canteen") and my own limited repertoire in the kitchen is considered a delicacy to my taste buds. In fact, it's pure ecstasy. Food is my sex on this god-forsaken island (that I love) where the pickings are slim when it comes to men and culinary pleasure.
Every day I'm in awe of this new teach/write/love adventure I'm living. I never tire from the heat of the sun or surprise sun showers followed by magnificent rainbows. I'm constantly soothed by the calm blue sea and the wash of tranquility it gives me even when gazing at it from a distance. And I love how the night skies are so filled with stars that I'm completely unafraid of post-sunset walks with my dog.
I’d already lived on this picturesque, private hotel resort island for a whole month before even dipping my body into ocean. Crazy, I know! I even taught Pilates classes on the beach every Friday, instructing guests to roll up through their spines, gaze across the ocean and absorb the sea breeze before rolling back to the grounding support of the sand.
I’m a New Yorker. I thrive on the frenetic pulse created by its 8million inhabitants driven by our individual stories of ambition, hope and success as much as our apathy, desperation and failure. We get things done quickly, purposefully and with an exclamation point. We don’t pause. We don’t take deep breaths. We just keep moving.
ADULTERY. Oh, that’s a definite trigger for me. The word itself has a way of summoning hurtful memories of lies, betrayal and infidelity in my former marriage. It’s like reliving the erosion of my spirit, self-worth, and confidence as a sensual being.
