I love the ocean. Its vastness. The rhythmic crashing of its waves.
I've passed many blissful moments of my life "lost" in its near-euphoric beauty.
Growing up near the Pacific Ocean, I had easy access to its southern Californian beaches and temperate waters. Sand play and sunscreen filled my childhood. And as a young adult, I could drag my lucky self there most any time I pleased. My most memorable youth group bonfires, baptisms, and deep, intellectual conversations with friends - and sunburns - are tied to specific beaches along the North County San Diego shoreline.
It's a beautiful thing how lying belly-down on the warm sand for an hour in between dips in the ocean is considered a completely acceptable use of time. One could even call it "productive" if working on one's tan. :)
Meandering conversations with friends could lull into meditative snoozes without notice. What a perfect activity for moody, introverted teenagers everywhere!
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| My sister and I walking the North County San Diego shoreline |
I missed the warmth of San Diego beaches while living in the Mid-Atlantic for 6 years; which is one reason our move to Haiti delighted us so much with its seemingly endless coastal treasures.
Yet it took some "work" to unearth these salt water treasures.
The traffic and noise often felt claustrophobic in Port-au-Prince, where we lived. On a handful of memorable occasions, we escaped the city for a day at the beach; or, better yet, a well-planned overnight vacation. The reward for putting up with the grinding traffic on the outskirts of the city was the cool breeze and the pale blue, lapping waters of the Caribbean that greeted us at the other end of our journey. Reclining, dazed, on the beach was pure heaven. One could breathe deeply here without choking on exhaust fumes or the scent of burning trash. The fresh fish and lobster weren't bad either :)
One of my many special memories from Haiti's beaches took place on Bon Bon beach, way out near the island's westernmost city of Jeremie. I was buried in my latest historical read - the Black Count- which follows the life of a French Revolution general and father to the famous author Alexander Dumas. At that moment in my reading, I discovered that Dumas Senior passed much of his childhood in the town bordering this very same beach. The history nerd in me got a faint "period rush," as the past collided with my present on that pristine, sandy shore.
The ocean has offered more than beauty and special memories to me; it offers me a place of refuge - a space of rest and care for my soul.
The sound of crashing waves alone is enough to "carry" me to this place of rest. My final anecdote speaks to some of the craziness of 2020 for us all, so I'll close with it here:
Lily was born 4 months into the shelter-in-place. The trip to the hospital felt like a pseudo-"staycation," in a twisted, pandemic-kind-of-way. After her birth, Ted and I were "treated" to 24 hours in post-partum care, where we were largely left alone because of COVID restrictions on visitations. The medical staff also "clustered" their entrances into our room to reduce spread of germs. The "treat" was that we actually had chances to snooze with our day-old baby. And the hospital's white noise machine had an "ocean waves" setting that provided the soundtrack for our stay. Holding my new baby in relative quiet, she and I could both dip in and out of slumber to the sound of the crashing waves.
Compared to the harry and stress of labor - and the general stress of 2020 - this time stands out to me as 24-hours of post-partum bliss. :)
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| Lily's newborn slumber |
