Sam and I, with a couple friends, are going Rhode Island, to the beach today. What privilege.
And to think ‘going to the beach’ used to mean walking across my lawn, down stone stairs, jumping off the seawall to our rock. What privilege.
Today I will plunge my head under waves; take in the glory of coolness surrounding me; flip on my back and float, suspended by salt saturated seas; breath deep the ocean air. What privilege.
What privilege, I understood as a child to simply be ‘home’ – like any other kid’s home. I raced waves before they crashed the seawall; donned diving mask and took my homemade spear to (never) pierce a flounder; spied the eel gliding by our rock; tied my dinghy to the spindle and dropped a hand line.
We sold that home space several years ago – well used and – unaffordable in adulthood.
What privilege. Today we’re going to the beach.