The news of the day is on the beaches of Orange County with an estimated 40 thousand visitors trying to beat the heat and ignore the quarantine. I get it, I’m jealous of them, at lands end taking in both sea and sun. The beach is probably the closest I get to having a spiritual place, a place that puts me in awe, and feel the grandeur of the universe.
Of course for me, it needs to be night - well after the beach closes in ordinary times. The liminal space between the new day defined by clock, and the actual day’s beginning. That is the time when the beach calls me, to see the moon reflected in the water and the sound unseen waves breaking further up shore. Also deserted and unoccupied - after the police have cleared it an hour after closing. That is the beach I want to visit.
The heat, the first hint of summer yet to come, has me standing naked from the shower, enjoying the cool of the air conditioning evaporating the moisture the towels have missed. I think of vacations in Palm Springs and how quickly you are dried by the sun after surfacing from the pool. I miss those days of isolating with close friends, never leaving the house, never getting dressed, the constant heat and the never-ending play.
I get that we are all sharing our isolation, that there is a bond between us, and that our experiences parallel one another’s. Still, that we cannot occupy the same physical space - no matter how personal it’s experience might be - that irks me. So I understand the rush to the beach. I am still jealous of those who went while I stayed home - and while I may be judgmental of their trip, I do it while fantasizing of trips I might have once taken on my own.
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