Ocean Allure

It’s been many years since I’ve been to the beach. I can’t include the time spent on the beaches in Scotland, because although we valiantly tried to pretend we were having a “beach day” we could not ignore the fact that we were quietly shivering every time the wind blew or the fact that no one would play in the North Sea. Considering that, 200 miles out to sea, there was probably some man on an oil platform wearing a survival suit and a parka dampened our enthusiasm for the bone-chilling water.

But this past week, due to a friend’s wedding on the North Carolina coast, and another’s friend’s generously placed aunt and uncle, I got to have my beach days.

In a way, it was a return to my youth in San Diego where I spent many happy hours on Coronado Beach, or Mission Beach, or Pacific Beach. My bag held a towel, some Burt Bee’s chap stick, and sun block. I laid claim to my few feet of sand and hit the waves – boogie boarding, bobbing up and down, letting them crash over me. I played paddle ball and some ill-fated volleyball. I walked up and down the shore in ankle-deep water. I stood facing the Atlantic and watched while the waves rushed back to the deep and the sand began to bury my feet.

And I began to reconnect to a part of me that I had forgotten existed. The girl who loves the ocean. Maybe, just maybe, this is where I truly belong after all, I thought. The water welcomed me like an old friend, folding me in its tides and lifting me up in its troughs. I marveled at how it glittered in the sun and its great vastness and the God of wonders who made it all. And I found, for a few shining moments, peace.