The first time I ever saw the ocean was summer 2010, when my family took a weeklong trip to Disney World. I was 10 years old at the time. It was also the first time I was ever in an airplane.
We stepped out of Mickey Mouse’s house for a day and headed to Daytona Beach.
At first, my mom was terrified to actually let us go in the water, as she’s a bit scared of the ocean herself. My little sister was allowed to put her feet in, and my older sister and I could go out a bit further, as long as my stepfather, Alan, was with us.
Alan told my sisters and I to taste the water, but not to take a big gulp.
I licked the top of the water, and was absolutely floored. That water was saltier than an Idaho potato chip.
I also discovered that seashells were actually real; not man-made decorations to add a beachy vibe to your guest bathroom.
I walked further out into the ocean with my older sister and Alan, getting pulled back by the waves we were trying to push through.
“Alan, that’s too far!” my mom yelled from the beach, where she was making some type of sand architecture with my little sister.
“We’re fine!” Alan yelled back, while telling us to go a bit closer to the shore so she wouldn’t flip out.
I got taken down by a wave that day, and saw my 10 years of life flash before my eyes.
I took in a big gulp of the salty sea as I was continuously pushed underwater, wave after wave knocking me down.
Alan grabbed me almost immediately. I might have overdramatized the situation in my head. But, he did tell me not to drink the water, and I did accidentally drink a cup’s worth.
Alan said I’d survive.
I still wasn’t so sure.
So, I rushed onto the shore where my mom was, well, losing it.
I’ve always enjoyed the dramatics, and my mom was a great audience, as she was just as worked up as me after my near-death fight with the waves.
I got a shirt at Ron Jon’s Surf Shop to commemorate my first day at the ocean. And the next day, I was back to normal: crying on every roller coaster at Disney World.
I returned to Florida two years after that and saw the ocean again. Later, we went to the Dominican Republic and Mexico, and let me tell you: Daytona Beach has nothing on Punta Cana.
One of the reasons I moved to Massachusetts was because it is on the coast. For years, I always had to schedule an entire vacation just to see the ocean.
For someone who’s terrified of everything and nearly died during my first ocean outing, I can’t get enough of it.
I love the sound the waves make as they hit the shore. I love the seagulls and their dainty, long, twiggy legs. I love the weird creatures that pop up on the shore.
I love going to Nahant Beach or Red Rock Park to look at the Boston skyline across the water, which connects everyone to everything.
I love seeing older people, and I’m assuming retired people, camp out on their chairs all day with no sunscreen in sight. Their tans and leathered skin make it look as if they just crawled out of the sand to soak in the high UV rays.
I get a lot of creative inspiration hanging out at the beach. There’s always a sight to see, and kind people to talk to.
As I write this, I’m sitting on a chair I got at Nahant Surf Shop with my toes in the sand at White Beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea. Very literal town name, by the way. I still haven’t spotted Casey Affleck, though.
About 20 minutes ago, a random sandy blond, beach-weathered, Tommy Chong-type, 60-year-old came up to me to show me the sea glass he found on the shore. We talked for around 30 minutes about the ocean, creation, and the meaning of life. It was pretty rad, man. You don’t get that type of unique conversation in a building away from the waves.
I’m jealous of people who have never known anything different than heading to the beach for the day.
Now that I am that person, I’m grateful for all the time spent away from the massive pool of saltwater, as every day at the ocean for me feels like a vacation.
