As America begrudgingly returns to work after the long Labor Day weekend, some are mourning the passing of Jimmy Buffet. He was an American icon that represents a certain southern coastal lifestyle, beachy good times, or a dream vacation to have one day someday. To this Florida therapist, his song “Margaritaville” brings up both pain and joy.
In the late 80’s I worked for the boating industry, and part of my job was to man the company’s booth at boat shows. That meant long, grueling weekends on my feet for 3 days straight, fake-smiling my way through them. It was the worst mismatch in the history of jobs, as I didn’t know a thing about boating (still don’t), and had nothing in common with the wealthy yacht owners who bought our products. I was an “urban” kid from South Miami (Westchester to be exact) that only went to the beach on very special occasions. Some readers may find that strange, as the beaches are just down the street for us Floridians, and weren't that expensive at the time. The reality is that, even today, for many poor, immigrant, or minority children it might as well be in another country—but that’s a topic for another time.
This particular boat show in Fort Lauderdale is one that I’ll never forget. Our booth was situated right across a beachwear booth, and they had beautiful, tanned models in tiny bikinis standing out front handing out coupons and flyers. That might be illegal today. They also had “Margaritaville” playing loudly. For the whole weekend. I had to listen to “Margaritaville” over and over for three days straight. Not the whole album, mind you, the song. Being an “urban” young man I had no idea who Jimmy Buffet was, but started to really, really dislike him. At the time, I thought “Margaritaville” was the worst song I’d ever heard and never wanted to hear it again. It was torture. Worse than plantar fasciitis.
Fast forward to the latter part of the 2000’s. I meet and fall madly in love with a beautiful woman who was as different from me as can possibly be. Her life had revolved around boats, the ocean, fishing, swimming, sailing the Caribbean … and had grown up listening to Jimmy Buffet. His music was literally the soundtrack of her life. Life is funny like that.
At the time, both of us had demanding careers, the economy was tanking, and most weekends we’d find refuge from stress and deadlines hanging out at the beach or by the ocean, talking about anything and everything. Sometimes with a glass of wine, and at times with a Margarita. Like everyone else, we had our share of ups and downs, and after a while our relationship ended. That was very hard for me.
So what does all this have to do with me, the “Therapist in Paradise”? Jimmy mentioned in several interviews that therapy was influential in helping him survive the rock’n’roll lifestyle that took many of his friends and peers, and because of it he was able to enjoy his success, spread joy to millions of people for many years, and live a full life. I didn’t know any of this until today, when I watched the many obituaries and read the articles online, and that resonated with me. That’s exactly why I became a therapist: to give my clients a chance to heal, survive, and thrive, and stories like Jimmy’s and my client’s successes are what keeps me going.
What about the Margaritaville Woman? She came magically to me on a Labor Day weekend, many moons ago, and with her love and spirit changed my life in ways I think she couldn't have imagined. And just as with Jimmy, cancer took her from us much too soon. That’s the story of Jimmy Buffet and this Florida therapist.
From “Margaritaville”:
“Wastin' away again in Margaritaville
That's where this ship is headed
Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame
But I know it's my own damn fault
That's what the therapist said”
Life is funny like that.