We’d never seen a boat that big in the harbour. I’ve been coming here for 11 years – The Man for all his life. It was the Never Enough. The irony was not lost on anyone watching.

They said that the crew was dressed all in khakis and fancy shirts in the early day, and at dusk we saw them in their black ties. We could hear all the excitement from where we stood as the yacht slowly made her way around the smaller boats, and I nearly expected Jay Gatsby to walk right out onto the deck and nod to the crowd with a smirk and a white-coat wave.

She moved slow, heavy, regal. And I wished I was there, part of the buzz and glitz and mystery. But not really. Because as I lazy-looped my arm through The Man’s and we meandered our way back to our beach house, I realized that this life I live is someone else’s boat – they look and long and wish for this. And so do I, until I remember I have it. That glamour life doesn’t really exist, and the ones who chase it discover quick, It isn’t really there. Whoever named the boat knew that. This tangible life is never enough, not really.

It’s been four months since I first saw Never Enough floating slow in the harbor, and every time I see a movie star on the cover of a magazine or daydream about jumping on a plane to Paris, I think about her and about how she may have been the biggest yacht in our harbor, but she’s not the biggest yacht in the world, not by far. When you strive to be the biggest and best, the smartest and wisest and most interesting, your goal will always be frustrated with bigger and better, smarter and wiser, and much more interesting. And so there is an innocent comfort and safety in humility, in receiving what this day gives, and in knowing that none of it originates with me.