Last week my husband and I went away on holiday. It was refreshing to get away, see new things, stay somewhere new. I think most of the appeal of holidays is the ‘new’ factor: new roads, new turn offs, new town, new environment. It’s like taking yourself out of your routine slump, and pouring some new-ness over everything so that it shines again.
While we were away, I started a list of about ten different things I wanted to achieve when we got back. Some were as vague as: spend WAY less time on my phone, some were much more specific. Going away was the catalyst for changes I wanted to make when I came home. Holidays are good for reminding us of what matters, dosing out fresh perspectives with gulps of fresh country air.
On our last day there, we drove an hour on the freeway to get to a beach I remember visiting as a teenager with my family on holiday. I love beaches, but this beach was next level gorgeous. I may have ended up with bruises and tight muscles from jumping in the waves, but it was well worth it.
In the middle of dodging waves, I started chatting with a woman next to me. Every time a wave came, we parted ways in the foam for a few seconds before resurfacing and continuing our conversation. She told me how she’d moved to the area from Melbourne at the start of Covid, and how it was one of the best decisions she’d ever made. “I’m a local now,” she said with a huge grin.
The thing is, I wanted to be a local there too. I wanted to have this beach as my backyard, and fresh salty air to inhale daily. A visit was wonderful, but imagine having all that goodness to appreciate constantly. Would I appreciate it as much if I lived there permanently? This woman sure seemed to.
After a difficult year (or two) that crystal clear water and the wide expanse of sand and waves felt to me like coming home. The waves were like hugs, rushing out to meet me, or at least that’s how it felt. Beaches have always had a way of making me feel included; like I belonged. Which is ironic, if you think about it, because you’re sharing the space with so many other people.
We drove home (our real home) the next day. I thought I’d be depressed to be back, but there is comfort in being home, too. Predictability, however boring, feels good.
I know I’ll likely forget most of what we did on that holiday in years to come. Memories are funny, old things. But I’ll always remember that pristine beach, that conversation, and the deep seated knowledge that coming home can mean so many different things.
