I first met salt water on a trip to Cape Cod when I was about 7 or 8. I remember standing at the edge of the water watching waves crash on the beach and foam around my feet. I remember feeling stuck in the sand, unable to go further into the water. I remember being afraid of the seaweed. I remember finally wading in holding my mom’s hand. It was cold but not too cold. I remember a wave coming and my mom telling me to jump. The buoyancy of the salt water carried me up. I wanted to float up and over the waves all day.
I wouldn’t return to the sandy shores of the Atlantic until I was just a week from college graduation. The beaches were foggy and damp and empty. I waded in until my rolled up jeans were soaked. I felt like I was home.
Just a two years later I would meet the Pacific. I first saw it from the window of an airplane as we circled overhead. It was evening. A day later I stood with my feet in the water. I have explored many beaches on the Pacific since that day and I am amazed at the beauty every day.
I am honored to spend many of my days enjoying the salt water near my home. It never ceases to amaze me how it changes from day to day, ride to tide. This year I am noticing baby jelly fish like never before.
Every time I dip my toes in the salty waters of the ocean I am reneegized and relaxed. I am exited and calmed. I am home.