Hey there, folks.
First, a couple quick notes:
- Twitter and Substack’s relationship is weird now. The former has become a hard place for a guy with a little bit of a following, sharing links to his newsletter. So if you don’t mind, forward this newsletter to a few friends when you enjoy it. That will help me grow this project. I sure would appreciate it.
- You may have noticed that this arrived on Monday morning instead of Sunday morning. I’m also a week late with this post. That is because the last couple weeks tried to kill me. I’m closing in on my first published magazine-style piece (I hope and pray), and I’m giving it a lot of time. I can’t wait to tell you guys more about it. We’ll get back to our Sunday schedule with the next one.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming:
I was reminded of an old feeling last week.
My little family joined my mother, father, sister, nieces and nephews for a weeklong trip to Nags Head.
The weather got better every day, even though the water stayed cold enough to cramp your feet. Those first two days, though, the wind was absolutely brutal. So we had to hunker down, watch movies and play board games.
It was my son’s first real trip to the beach. I say real because we took him last year as a five-month-old. But with his nap schedule and general blobby-ness, he didn’t get to play with the sand or the water very much. We didn’t either. (I’m learning that vacationing as a parent is not really restful at all).
He loved it so much this time. As you see in the picture above, he wasn’t intimidated by the water or the loud crashes that came with each wave. Sometimes, it was all my wife or I could do to catch him. One moment, he’d be crouched down, trying to dig a hole with a stick he found. Next, he was racing seagulls to the ocean foam.
I wish we could’ve hit the water together, with me scooping him up and taking him out about waist deep. That desire triggered a childhood feeling.
I grew up going to Kure Beach. It will always be the beach I see when I close my eyes and think of the coast. We’d stay at the Seven Seas Inn when I was really little. I remember it had a lot of wood paneling. I think it may have also had cement floors. It was awesome. One of those two-leveled hotels with the parking lots in the front. It had a pool that was split into two sections, and the dividing wall was under water, just below the surface. My cousins and I would play on top of that wall, bouncing back and forth between sections, no matter how many times our parents told us to stop.
Eventually, we shifted to the condos at Sands V. Like Seven Seas, it had a pool and a view of the ocean. That place felt like a real upgrade. But at the same time, it was never as good, either.
No matter where we stayed, I’d swim all day. And then, I’d lay down at night, in a small twin mattress with a nautical-themed comforter, and still feel like I was floating.
Googling around a bit, I think that was the equivalent of “sea legs.” My little body had compensated for that floating sensation. So when I hit land and got still, I felt the water’s movement thanks to my brain.
That’s one of those deeply nostalgic feelings that, honestly, I had forgotten about.
The only reason it came back to me is because of this little boy. Like I said, we didn’t get to go out together at Nags Head. But in a couple months, we will head to Ocean Isle with my wife’s family. It will be much warmer, and we’ll be hanging around the canal with a short walk to beach access.
I can’t wait to watch him run around some more. To discover the beach. To eat some sand and salt. I hope he’s excited to get out there with me and feel the ocean’s lift.
Hopefully for a few nights in June, I’ll lay down in bed and be absolutely worn out from the sun and the sand (with the occasional buzz of a few beers). And when my head hits the pillow, I’ll be floating again.
Take care and thanks for reading,
Ethan