In my blood

Last night I dreamed about the ocean. It was a fairly disjointed dream, but from what I remember I was exploring an old house and kept happening upon random family pictures from my childhood. Every time I picked up a picture, I would end up on the beach during a raging winter storm. I was just past the edge of the water and I could feel the mist from the breakers on my face. It was exhilarating.

I grew up in California, right on the coast. We lived there until I was 17 (more or less--there were a few years in Idaho that we would all rather forget). I haven't lived by the ocean for ten years now, but I still miss it so terribly I want to cry sometimes. I've tried to love the mountains, I really have. But they just don't do much for me. It's not the same. I can't even explain the feelings that I have about the beach. I don't care much for swimming in the ocean, but a nice walk on a blustery winter day does wonders for my soul.

I fear that I will not end up living near the ocean and that I will always feel like something is missing. That's part of why I keep rooting for us to move to Hawaii--it's not quite the same as the beaches in California , but the ocean is still ever present. I need that.