I live just minutes from the beach, and I've always lived minutes from the beach. As such, the ocean is a normal thing for me. I've always known air with that subtle cling of fresh salt, I've never wondered what hot sand feels like on my cool, bare feet after getting out of the crisp ocean waves. It's never occurred to me that these are things that perhaps not everyone experiences.
Just the other day, I went to the beach with some friends. We weren't actually having a full beach day with swimsuits, huge, colorful towels, and the like. We had just eaten our dinner at a burger place down the boardwalk, and had decided to walk our meal off in the sand.
We rolled our jeans up to our knees and slipped our sandals off, letting them dangle carelessly from our fingers. Then, we went down the steep wooden stairs and sighed at that welcome, familiar feeling of soft sand squishing between our toes and warming the soles of our feet.
We walked for a while, chatting over the roar of waves and continually pushing our hair back behind our ears from where the wind had whipped loose strands into our faces. Eventually, we came across someone, a middle aged woman in a blue, fleece sweater and jean shorts to her knees. She was standing just at the edge of the tide, where dry sand turned dark and firm, where the thinning waves would occasionally stretch out to wet her toes. He stared ahead of herself, out at the water, with a rapt look of pure eye. We couldn't help but pause. Yeah, it was a pretty view, but this woman seems INTO it, what was she on?
"You okay?" we asked.
She turned to us with a smile, "Yeah, this is just my first time seeing the ocean."
We were blown away. She had grown up all her life in a small town in Iowa, far away from any beaches or seagulls. While she marveled at the dark blue mass of water sprawling out on and on into the horizon, we marveled at her. To grow up never smelling the salt on the air, to never collect shells as a child, and then return home tired, content, and covered in sand. Was that a life? We looked out with her, watching the sunset light the sky hot pink and red, the waves catching the colors and turning gold.
Just the other day, I went to the beach with some friends. We weren't actually having a full beach day with swimsuits, huge, colorful towels, and the like. We had just eaten our dinner at a burger place down the boardwalk, and had decided to walk our meal off in the sand.
We rolled our jeans up to our knees and slipped our sandals off, letting them dangle carelessly from our fingers. Then, we went down the steep wooden stairs and sighed at that welcome, familiar feeling of soft sand squishing between our toes and warming the soles of our feet.
We walked for a while, chatting over the roar of waves and continually pushing our hair back behind our ears from where the wind had whipped loose strands into our faces. Eventually, we came across someone, a middle aged woman in a blue, fleece sweater and jean shorts to her knees. She was standing just at the edge of the tide, where dry sand turned dark and firm, where the thinning waves would occasionally stretch out to wet her toes. He stared ahead of herself, out at the water, with a rapt look of pure eye. We couldn't help but pause. Yeah, it was a pretty view, but this woman seems INTO it, what was she on?
"You okay?" we asked.
She turned to us with a smile, "Yeah, this is just my first time seeing the ocean."
We were blown away. She had grown up all her life in a small town in Iowa, far away from any beaches or seagulls. While she marveled at the dark blue mass of water sprawling out on and on into the horizon, we marveled at her. To grow up never smelling the salt on the air, to never collect shells as a child, and then return home tired, content, and covered in sand. Was that a life? We looked out with her, watching the sunset light the sky hot pink and red, the waves catching the colors and turning gold.
