Miss the Beach

After whole brain radiation I was warned to stay out of the sun, at the very least to wear a hat when I was out and about. My poor little brain had all the radiation it could handle, and further radiation from the sun could cause problems I was told.

Between that and the lack of general coordination that three-years worth of chemotherapy has caused me, I've been unable to visit one of my favorite places on Earth - the beach.

To me the beach is almost a spiritual journey. It's so massive. It reminds me of how little and insignificant I am. It's so powerful. It reminds me of the forces that are truly in charge.

I've always said that the ocean is like life itself. Don't turn your back on it or you may get knocked over.

I've always fit in well at the beach. It fits my style, my demeanor. I'm not into the rat race, all us little ants marching along the highways every day to and fro.

When I lived in Philadelphia a very respected editorial page editor wrote an editorial begging people to dress appropriately in the city. No baggy shorts, no t-shirts, and on no occasion did this man want to see any other man in the business district without a shirt.

At the beach, baggy shorts and a t-shirt are business attire.

On one of my early trips to the Outer Banks of North Carolina I stopped in at Tommy's Market to grab some milk and essentials. The cashier started asking me what I thought of the surf this week. He thought I was a local. I did feel like I was at home.

To me, places like Atlantic City aren't my kinds of beaches. It's a big city. Nature is squashed by us silly humans. I need the natural power of the beach to inspire me and make me feel at home. And there isn't much of that left.

And with my radiated head, and my chemo infused body, the beach isn't easy for me any more. I miss those annual pilgrimages. It was good for my soul.