The Beach. Written By: Laura R Barnes | by Laura R Barnes | Sep, 2025
I don’t know exactly what drew to me to that beautiful place every single time. I know it wasn’t when I saw how absolutely jaw dropping the sunrises and sunsets were, and it wasn’t how much I loved sleeping in and taking afternoon naps after playing at the beach for hours on end.
Part of it might have been when I felt the sand for the first time. Because I finally felt like I had control over what crumbled within my fingers and across my hands. I felt important when I built sand castles with my younger brother, like I actually had a say in the matter over what we chose to build and destroy. We weren’t torn apart over what someone else wanted us to be torn apart over. It was only an opinion when we were at the beach, it was only a disagreement, that we were always willing to settle on. No one else was going to put us against each other just to create inner turmoil when we were there. We were always right down at the water, choosing how big or small our sandcastle was going to be, whether we would dig a huge moat around it or not. They wouldn’t be able to justifiably express their anger over our “child-like” behaviors, when we were kids. Or when me and my brother would take turns burying each other, packing the sand tight on top, seeing how quickly we could break out of the sandy mound that held us to the ground. I felt like each time I would break out, which was every time, no matter how hard the sand was pressed on top of me, my brother, even though he desperately wanted his stronghold to work, he knew that this was all for fun. I also enjoyed the fun from this activity because I wouldn’t get shamed for how I chose to find my way out of a hard time, because we’re at the beach, and it was only sand.
Another reason why I love the beach so much, is the time I spent in the water, especially before I started fearing water that I couldn’t see through. My Dad would take me out to the water, and we’d do our most important task of our vacation time… to “bust waves”. Also known as, smashing the “Big Kahoona”, now this was never an easy task of ours, smashing through a gigantic wave as a kid seemed pretty terrifying at first, after all, it’s a gigantic wave with no mercy, headed straight towards you, and it was up to you and your strength, whether you would fall down and get swept back towards the shore, or to stand your ground, and break through a huge wave. I might have loved doing this so much because even when something huge took me down, I would always have the courage to get right back up, even when my eyes burned from the saltwater, it was always worth it in the end, and the sore muscles and the blaring sun wasn’t going to stop me, and whether I fell down or didn’t, I just kept having the confidence and courage to keep going past. I miss that confidence dearly, and every time I’m back at the beach, I’m reminded of how much of a tough kid I really was…
If me and my brother were lucky enough, despite my Dad’s hesitation, and before the pain in his back got really bad, he would dance with us when they had a dance contest going on down by the pool, and we always made sure to wear him out, and wear him out wasn’t the only accomplishment… it was truly the smile that my family wore on their faces before, during, and after the time we spent doing fun things. It always felt magical, and happy… we were always so happy at the beach.
The pool never got old, in fact, it really did grow on me after I started fearing unclear water, which was always down at the beach. So the pool became my sanctuary, and I never got tired of it. Even when I started noticing that I had always had the deep feeling inside of me whenever I was swimming around other people, like I was misplaced… I was always somewhere, between people, with people, who I didn’t belong with. Maybe that indifference didn’t feel so bad when I was at the beach, and at the pool. It was always there, it never left my soul, but it was more shallow than the water I’d jump and swim in, and that, to me… made it insignificant enough to spend almost every second at the beach thinking about everything else.
When those misplaced feelings happen, which is all the time now, I try to think back to the beach and how much I miss it. I may never get any second chances on the childhood that I had, but I won’t ever forget the thankfulness I feel every single time that I get to say that I have a happy place. And how even though no one who I’ll explain this too, will see, or feel, or hear, everything that made me so joyful and free there…
They’ll get to see a wide smile on my face each time I bring up the beach.
