Missing the Ocean

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to live near the Ocean. My love affair with the Atlantic Ocean began at a very young age. I was constantly and consistently brought to the beach, and even had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time at a family home (Creek House) that was just minutes from the open waves of the Long Island Sound. We'd go down the channel of the creek in canoes, and take the motorboat out into a sandbar dotted with small islands. Those islands were like little utopias in my imagination. We'd bring a delicious cooler filled with fresh made donuts and other goodies that my grandmother would prepare for us. My uncles, the captains of the boat, would let all of us roam the islands doing our own thing; I'd always bring a baggy to fill up with unique ocean specimens: sea glass, shells, crab legs and shells, dried bits of seaweed . . . anything I could get my hands on. Of course my mother would have to dump most of it out due to the stink of the sea, but I felt like such a pioneer rescuing all of these mementos from the Ocean. My childhood had many moments of feet crusted over with sand, curls sticky with salt, and sunburns that lead to tears and spray on solarcaine. The nights that I got the best sleep started with the slow rocking motion of the sea sweeping my body from wakefulness to dreams. How does the body remember the rock of the waves when you close your eyes? I still put my mind near the Ocean when I need to sleep. I count waves instead of sheep. Honestly, I think my innocent and youthful prayers all, in one way or another, involved my becoming a Mermaid. 

Even now I long for the sea. The endless gray and brown of the city really starts to drag me down, especially at this time of year when we haven't had sunshine and warmth and vegetation in so long. I need yellow, blue, and green! For those of you who don't know me, I live in Brooklyn, New York and I am from South Eastern Connecticut. When it's been too long since I've heard the soothing lap of water as it meets the shore, I start to feel antsy. I feel it in my bones. I feel it as I close my eyes on my subway commute. I feel it while I look out the window and see more white, gray, and blah. I feel uncomfortable and as if something were terrible amiss in my life. What I wouldn't give to push my toes into the cool of sand and water. That lovely strip of sand that has recently been coated in sea water and soaks up an imprint of your toes as you pick them up and take another step. Something about the Ocean restores my soul when it's weary. 

For my birthday, my husband and I made a trip down to Bermuda. The color of the water there inspires me. The smell of the hotel room, being so close to the sea, makes my heart smile just to think of it! It's musty and salty and might be mistaken for something old and dank, but I know better. When we got there, got checked in and dropped all of our luggage into the room, I bolted straight down to the water. It was cold, but that didn't matter. I was overcome with so many emotions, so much release to let go into the dip and tug of the waves. I am trying so hard to pull that feeling into myself now, to reconnect with the Ocean thru memory--it's just not the same, I need to be there, toes in, shivering and letting go.

I'm not really sure how I became so close with the sea. I get the sense that a lot of people crave the relaxation and comfort that comes from a trip to the beach. For me it almost feels essential sometimes. Maybe someday I'll be able to pack up my city apartment and head for the coast-line. I know the hardest part will be convincing my sun-hating husband that it's a great, nay necessary move. He'd stay locked up in a cloudy day every day if he could. At any rate, I think a trip to the Ocean is in my cards for this weekend and I hope it is every bit as cathartic and cleansing as I remember it to be.