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Ocean City
Oct. 21st, 2021 08:07 amI've come to understand recently that sometimes there's more to gain from doing and not thinking than from thinking and not doing. Yesterday I had this impulsion to go to the beach, so I drove to Ocean City in the early evening. It was warm last night and I drove with my windows open for one of the last times, with one arm on the wheel and the other out the window as they should be. It's late October so the city was practically empty. Across the bridge, the first pastel shades of evening began to layer themselves across the whole isle. Parking was easy for once; I quickly found a spot only two blocks away from the beach and the excitement in me was so strong at that point that I locked my car and immediately sprinted to the boardwalk.
I've never seen a beautiful place so empty. It was just me and this huge, open boardwalk, stretching for miles parallel to the beach. In summer at this time of day, it would normally be ridiculously crowded. In fact, you'd probably never see it this empty at all in the warm months. But on this temperate day in late October it was glazed in a type of serenity I have only ever seen in my dreams. I walked quickly out of anticipation, eventually working myself into a jog, and then a sprint, past all the closed tourist shops and attractions. Once I ran out of breath, I walked and observed the air around me which, for some reason, in this perfectly whimsical way, was filled with dozens of Monarch butterflies. Really? Seriously? I mean, come on. It was so perfect it felt like a joke. The ocean, butterflies, an invigorating sense of aloneness, and myself. All engulfed in the pink light of a sunset. The ideal conditions for a specimen like me. Surreal.
Eventually, the ocean beckoned me in its usual way. I don't know why I tried to tell myself I wouldn't go on the beach. It's always "you'll get sand in your shoes" and "someone will steal your keys at the beach entrance". Who cares. The only thing I regret is wearing my high tops because I couldn't get them off fast enough. When I finally did, I chucked them impassively by the fence and bolted straight to the water. The ocean was cold I guess, whatever. I didn't care at that point. I ran back and forth in the water, splashing around and laughing for awhile until I was almost completely soaked and covered in sand. Eventually I ran out of breath again and made my way back to the boardwalk to enjoy the rest of the sunset. The huge, full moon rose in East, and I watched from a bench. I only left when it became too cold to stay, and even by the time I was home I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
I always struggle to write about stuff like this. It's beyond normal happiness to me. That single hour yesterday felt like the happiest of my life, but I say that every time. It's more than that- it's too profound, too enormous to put into words. How often do I get to feel that good? I feel like all of my most memorable experiences somehow come back to being in water. Open expanses, crashing waves, quiet places and seabirds I know all the names of. It's a part of me. It has to be, the way it makes me feel. And to think I gain so much joy from a place I've known my entire life, I have so much excitement about going elsewhere. I mean, this is New Jersey of all places. If New Jersey can be this gorgeous, imagine what other places are like.
I've never seen a beautiful place so empty. It was just me and this huge, open boardwalk, stretching for miles parallel to the beach. In summer at this time of day, it would normally be ridiculously crowded. In fact, you'd probably never see it this empty at all in the warm months. But on this temperate day in late October it was glazed in a type of serenity I have only ever seen in my dreams. I walked quickly out of anticipation, eventually working myself into a jog, and then a sprint, past all the closed tourist shops and attractions. Once I ran out of breath, I walked and observed the air around me which, for some reason, in this perfectly whimsical way, was filled with dozens of Monarch butterflies. Really? Seriously? I mean, come on. It was so perfect it felt like a joke. The ocean, butterflies, an invigorating sense of aloneness, and myself. All engulfed in the pink light of a sunset. The ideal conditions for a specimen like me. Surreal.
Eventually, the ocean beckoned me in its usual way. I don't know why I tried to tell myself I wouldn't go on the beach. It's always "you'll get sand in your shoes" and "someone will steal your keys at the beach entrance". Who cares. The only thing I regret is wearing my high tops because I couldn't get them off fast enough. When I finally did, I chucked them impassively by the fence and bolted straight to the water. The ocean was cold I guess, whatever. I didn't care at that point. I ran back and forth in the water, splashing around and laughing for awhile until I was almost completely soaked and covered in sand. Eventually I ran out of breath again and made my way back to the boardwalk to enjoy the rest of the sunset. The huge, full moon rose in East, and I watched from a bench. I only left when it became too cold to stay, and even by the time I was home I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
I always struggle to write about stuff like this. It's beyond normal happiness to me. That single hour yesterday felt like the happiest of my life, but I say that every time. It's more than that- it's too profound, too enormous to put into words. How often do I get to feel that good? I feel like all of my most memorable experiences somehow come back to being in water. Open expanses, crashing waves, quiet places and seabirds I know all the names of. It's a part of me. It has to be, the way it makes me feel. And to think I gain so much joy from a place I've known my entire life, I have so much excitement about going elsewhere. I mean, this is New Jersey of all places. If New Jersey can be this gorgeous, imagine what other places are like.
