The lagoon was massive.
The body of water filled a space the size of six football fields.
Around its edges, tourists milled about. Street performers did their thing. And fancy hotel structures towered over the water.
At first glance, this man-made structure seemed like a mistake. A waste of valuable space and real estate.
But then the music would start. The tourists would take note. And the hustle and bustle would fade away.
For a few majestic moments, the lagoon would transform into a majestic fountain, with water shooting up to 400 feet in the air. The experience would leave everyone watching in a trance.
Yes, the Fountains at Bellagio are about as unnecessary an attraction as there is. Gallons upon gallons of water housed in the Nevada desert, whose only function is pure spectacle.
And yet, they’re as intractable a part of Las Vegas as slot machines, neon lights and showgirls. The essential of all essentials. Something so iconic that even the strait-laced, reclusive business traveler — that would be me — makes a point to seek it out.
It’s excess on parade. And we can’t get enough.
About 800 miles east of Las Vegas, a billboard rises menacingly over the open plains of the Texas Panhandle.
It tempts drivers passing through Amarillo on Interstate 40 to stop at the Big Texan Ranch and try the 72-ounce steak.
Such a cut of beef carries a hefty price, even out in the heartland. But those who polish it off in one sitting – along with a few preordained sides — can have their check comped. It turns out there is such a thing as a free meal.
I love Texas as much as anything, and a good steak as much as anyone. I would seem to be the right clientele to take this challenge on.
But as I drove by this billboard, I was nauseated.
I thought back to my teenage years, when McDonalds would goad me into Super Sizing my fries for additional sweepstakes entries. I’d feel worse and worse with each bite, as excess calories filled my stomach and excess regret consumed my mind.
The Big Texan Steak challenge wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t about to take it on.
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But clearly, some do.
There’s a reason that highway billboard is there. Just like there’s a reason why there are fountains in the desert.
Excess on parade is a powerful magnet.
Excess has always been in our DNA.
This nation’s beginnings were essentially an agrarian revolt. A group of mostly rural colonists objected against taxes levied by a faraway monarch. They decided to go it alone instead.
Yet, the Founding Fathers sold a vision far grander. The reframed our fledgling nation as a beacon for liberty and democracy. It was quite the overstatement for the actions of settlers who were tired of paying the crown.
This expression of excess morphed into a rallying cry in the decades that followed.
We decided that expanding westward was God’s will, displacing native tribes and Mexican settlers in the process. We lionized the titans of the Industrial Revolution, even as the front-line workers at their companies toiled away in squalid conditions. And we focused our gaze on the biggest, the brightest, and the most extraordinary. Nothing less would do.
All of that led us to the present moment. Where we’re expected to step into boots two sizes too big and fill them with ease.
This is not the world we live in. It’s the world we’ve created for ourselves.
Excess on parade is part of the fabric. Consequences be damned.
From my couch, I watched with a mix of horror and amazement.
On my television screen was the United States men’s soccer team. The finest of the Stars and Stripes were taking on a Belgian side at the World Cup in Brazil.
Well, more like chasing the Belgians.
Indeed, the Belgian strikers and forwards had a couple of steps on the closest American defenders for most of the game. They would waltz unimpeded toward the goal, only to be stymied by goaltender Tim Howard.
Howard made a remarkable 16 saves in that game — a record for any World Cup match.
But it wasn’t enough. The Americans lost the knockout-round game 2-1 in extra time. Their World Cup quest was over once again.
I was baffled.
America had dominated the world stage at every turn throughout my lifetime — and for a generation before it. Our nation had outsize influence on both the global economy and geopolitics. It had driven pop culture trends. And it brought home the most medals in nearly every Olympic games.
Yet, the United States was an afterthought when it came to World Cup soccer. Our nation had never won the tournament — or even played in the championship match. And now, a country whose population was 96 percent smaller had outclassed the best soccer stars America had to offer.
The United States invested plenty in avoiding this outcome. The U.S. Soccer Federation had invested plenty into training and player development.
But it didn’t matter. Howard’s brilliance was the only protection against total obliteration on the soccer pitch.
As I stared on in silence, I started questioning the principle of Excess on Parade. How valuable was it anyway?
Consider one of Belgium’s culinary delicacies – Frites. The same dish that we like to Super-Size actually originated across the pond.
Over the years, Belgians have perfected the art of the Frite. But instead of serving up piles of it at a time, they put a sensible amount into a paper cone, and serve it with dipping sauces.
The Belgians favor quality over quantity. They don’t participate in Excess on Parade.
These same principles have made their way to the Belgian soccer pitch. Instead of going all-in, sparing no expense to build a title contender, the Belgians focus on perfecting their craft. On doing just enough for the moment, and doing it well.
It might not be flashy. But it gets the job done.
And more often than not, we don’t.
It’s time.
It’s time to shed the illusions of grandeur. It’s time to do away with spectacle for spectacle’s sake.
It’s time to say goodbye to Excess on Parade.
For this pattern wastes much and achieves little.
It does us no favors. And we needn’t kowtow to it.
So, let’s chart a new course. Let’s write a new chapter. One free of high-volume, yet full of substance.
This new path might feel strange and unnerving at first. But it will fit just right.
And shouldn’t that be enough?