Growing up my favorite part of summer was always our trip to the beach. I never really cared for the water, but I could sit at its edge for hours. Sandcastles and beach games and hunting for shells as a kid, baking myself to any shade darker than snow white as a teenager (back in the days before skin cancer was on our minds and SPF 3000 was standard), and maybe even the chance at a brief summer romance. I can still remember swapping addresses and writing promised letters and spending the summer all wistful for those few days. But even as I outgrew those things my love for the shore never faded. There’s something profoundly peaceful about being by the water; something deeply cleansing about the salt and the sand. My grown up self could still sit at the water’s edge for hours.
While I live closer now to the ocean than I ever have, the sad reality of adulthood is that trips to the coast are much less frequent now. To be fair, that’s partly because I opt to spend most of my free time in the mountains. A trade I happily make. But it’s also partly because I’m lucky enough to live a very short drive from a few beautiful beaches along the Potomac. Granted, it isn’t exactly the same. I don’t get the salty air, or the sound of the big waves. But the sand still feels the same on my toes, the sunrise is every bit as beautiful, and hours spent at the edge are just as cleansing. In the perfect light of early morning I can hardly tell the difference.
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