I have always found both solace and joy by the sea. That is something you should know about me. I was, in fact, born by the sea in a small hospital in Atlantic City - this was well before the name Atlantic City brought to mind seedy bars and tacky trinket shops and urban blight, you know - in a hospital by the Boardwalk, in a room that faced the sea. Damp, salty air wafted in on the early spring sea breezes, and the gentle lapping of the tide soothed my infant cries almost as much as my mother’s gentle touch, or so I have always been told.
The sea soothes and brings me joy still. It soothed me as a teenager when I was restless or grappling with self-doubt. I would stroll along the Boardwalk or float in the waves on hot summer days, and I could feel my cares simply drift away, replaced with a feeling of fullness and light. It soothed me when my husband passed and the grief felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on me. My children, hoping to relieve some small part of my anguish, brought me back to the sea and something about it helped me start to heal.
Yes, I have always found both solace and joy in the sea.