A few days ago, we told our parents we were heading to the beach.
They laughed, wondering how that's possible when we live on it.
But it truly feels that way.
Since arriving in the U.S., spontaneous beach trips with our SUPs, kayaks, or just snorkels are rare.
We're enjoying the journey, eagerly anticipating the sight of big cities from the sea, but it's chilly in the United States, especially since we last experienced winter a year and a half ago.
The waters at our anchorages are muddied, and strong currents prevent us from enjoying our kayaks and SUPs as we did in the Caribbean.
The wind whispers of impending storms and the waves carry fishing boats and cargo ships in numbers we're unaccustomed to.
The simplicity of sand, sea, snorkeling, joyful children, friends, and intermittent work has been replaced by a more urban simplicity—dinghies, playgrounds, skate parks, and museums, still with joyful children and friends interspersed with work.
It's not necessarily bad, just different.
I find myself missing the beaches—the warm sand between my toes, the endless seashells whispering sea tales, the clear waters revealing whole new worlds, the soothing whisper of the waves calming my heart, and the peace it brings to my mind.
Is it rational to miss something that seems ever-present? Apparently so.
What are things you've found yourself missing even though they seemed always there?
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