My dad hated the beach. Whenever the hot weather hit, his skin seemed to automatically turn red, if not from being out in the sun, then from the irritation of being uncomfortable during his least favorite season. This is why we vacationed in the mountains every year. Don't get me wrong, I loved it. Those summer vacations are childhood treasures that I'll always appreciate and never let go of.
But I'm the opposite of Dad. I love the beach. I love the ocean. If you were to ask me what, in particular, draws me to it, I could never give you a specific answer. The tides, maybe? The moon, at night? The smell, or the possibility of finding something in the sand. Or maybe just the knowledge that the water is teeming with life.
Today is a day when I miss the beach. I wish I was there, with my toes in the sand. The one time in my life when I felt completely and utterly at peace, besides being in a temple, was on a beach in Playa Del Carmen. I had nowhere to be and no obligation to fulfill that day. I just had a chair, and the water, and the sand. And that was enough for me, in that moment.
One of these days, when life calms down again, when things aren't so crazy and hectic, I'll pack a suitcase, and start exploring. One of these days.
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