Love Letter to the Sea

I like to believe that within my veins, flows a drop or two of sea water. An innate link between the ocean and I, that keeps it forever close. A sea breeze, crisp and salty, fills my lungs deeper than the stale air of suburbia ever has. Perhaps I’m like a conch shell, when you press your ear to me you can faintly hear the crashing of waves. Or perhaps, just like anyone lucky enough to have once lived close to the shore, I simply miss it.

I was born within five miles of the sea, and spent the first eighteen years of my life less than a twenty-minute drive from the coast. Initially, the sadness of moving away was numbed by the excitement of new experiences; attending university, starting my career, moving in with my long-term partner. But, with the discovery of adult-life’s monotony, and the claustrophobia of living in a landlocked county, came the nostalgia for carefree seaside days.

Eating homemade sandwiches accidentally seasoned with a dusting of sand, inside a labyrinth of striped windbreaks, forever about to fall over. Mum’s hands like sandpaper as she reapplies our sun-cream. Summer evening fireworks; wrapped in towels as we watch from a hole we had dug all by ourselves. Avoiding the waves as we skip along in our dresses, having snuck away from our school prom. To me, the sea has become synonymous with freedom.

Although the southern coastline between the Sandbanks peninsula and Bournemouth Pier will remain my true home, the lapping tide and fresh coastal wind of any seashore feels like a haven to me. Familiar and comforting. Like a pair of shoes that have come to fit your feet so perfectly you’d rather not wear any others. I am reminded of the raw, exposed beach of Reynisfjara in Iceland, with its black sand and aggressive Atlantic currents. The idyllic Blue Lagoon in Ölüdeniz, where we swam back and forth to the small island that marked the border of the open sea. I remember surfing in the brisk waters of Thurso Bay, off the north coast of Scotland with Orkney as our backdrop. Euphoria: the emotion that connects all these memories; I feel most alive when side-by-side with the sea.

I appreciate that an affinity with the ocean is not unique to me, and that the sea is not mine to claim. I am not alone in having fond memories of frolicking in the sand and swimming in the sea. There is something enchanting about the boundary between land and ocean, where the familiar ceases and the unknown begins. Moving back to a coastline will have to wait however; for now, this love letter will have to do.