I’ve written before about the fact that I am not always able to remember some of the small details of my life. I’ve also said I’d like to document them, but it’s really hard to document nothing. Other times when I have a flash of inspiration I have nothing to hand on which to write them down, so the moment passes and the pages stay blank.
One constant in my life however has been the sea. I have never been too far from it and this is something I do not take for granted.
When I was younger it was my go to place when things were rough and the bumps in life had risen up to meet me. Unlike others though, I chose the beach when it was dark and rough. The roar of the tide as it crashed to the shore was a comfort to me, along with my walkman and a ten pack of cigarettes. I never wanted to leave to go home, but begrudgingly I did, I couldn’t stay there forever.
I avoided the beach in the summertime though, too many people jostling and angling for any little bit of available sand on which to pitch their windbreakers. It didn’t feel like a safe haven then, so it was better to stay away.
In the early Autumn was best, because summer was just passing and the cooler air had not yet started to descend so it was still warm enough to lie on the stones staring at the stars while listening to the calming rhythm of the waves rolling onto the shore.
Even now, on days when my anxiety needs to be calmed I stand outside my door and just listen, the sound faint but still there. Such is the world now that I would not sit on the beach alone, but I can still dream of the days when I did.