Florida’s Junk Drawer Teaches a Lesson About Perspective

I love Panama City Beach. If there is a city in America that I consider my second home, it would have to be PCB. One might find it strange that I’ve settled on the place not-so-lovingly referred to as the Redneck Riviera as my favorite place.  

In a recent conversation, someone referred to it as Florida’s Junk Drawer. After a chuckle, a suspicious grimace, and concern as to whether or not I should take offense, I realized that this may be one of the reasons I like the place so much. I mean, it is not incorrect. A junk drawer is full of random things and usually the first place you look when you’ve lost something. I’ve lost a lot in Panama City Beach - my sanity, my dignity, and my favorite pair of Ray Bans. 

Joking aside, you can find almost anything there. There’s fine dining and hole-in-the-wall spots where shirts and shoes are optional. There is fun family entertainment as well as decidedly adult attractions that have existed longer than I have. There are museums, zoos, upscale shopping, and plenty of places to pick up a pair of $5 flip-flops. Panama City is a glorious celebration of both trash and treasure which, from my perspective, makes me feel right at home.  

Our relationship has had its ups and downs. What initially started out as a short trip to accompany a friend on a job interview in 1999 ended up being a three year stay as I began my radio career.  

During those three years, I met lifelong friends, lost a few others, and made more than my share of mistakes. I learned life lessons and met my future wife. When I moved away in 2002, I vowed to return one day as a morning show host, hopefully on the very radio station I left. 

Years later, I had that opportunity. Blinded by excitement and ambition, I jumped at the chance. My dream soon turned into a nightmare as the whole thing came crashing down, in a rather ugly and unceremonious way. My dream was crushed, and I was not only out of a job, but my career had all but come to a screeching halt.  

To say my perspective on Panama City Beach had changed would be an understatement. I never wanted to see that place again. 

Fast-forward to this year when my daughter said that she wanted to get married in a small ceremony on the Gulf. After some research, she found a beach that checked all the boxes: white sand, emerald green water and, perhaps most importantly, cheap.  

After 12 years swearing off the place I had once loved, I would return to Panama City Beach to watch my little girl get married.  

I pulled into town and took some time to check out landmarks and old hangouts. As I pointed out memories to my two sons, nostalgia washed over me and the anger and humiliation that I cultivated over the past 12 years started to melt away. 

We enjoyed a few days on the beach and watched my daughter say her vows to start the next chapter of her own adventure. Then, reluctantly, I left to head back home to work, responsibilities, and regular life.  

Did you catch that? 

I said reluctantly. 

The old feelings of familiarity, comfort, and home had all come rushing back, replacing all the hostility that I couldn’t let go of. It’s not something I’m proud of, but man, can I hold a grudge. This trip showed me how freeing it can be to let some of those things go. 

My perspective had officially changed, once again. My love for the Redneck Riviera or Florida’s Junk Drawer or whatever other not-so-nice nickname seems applicable has been completely restored.  

That said, I won’t be chasing any more job opportunities down there.  

I’m nostalgic, not stupid.