“Where is the first place you will go when this is over?” The first time I was asked the question, I wanted to scream. A sneak attack by an invisible enemy had just left the entire world in crisis. My brain was on a non-stop merry-go-round of daily statistics: How many people were infected; how many were in hospital; how many were in intensive care; and how many had died. I couldn’t think about what I would do when it was over; I could only think about what to do to get through it.
A year later, we are still not at the end of it, but I know where I will go – where I need to go – when this is over. I will go to the ocean.
I want to stand on the shore and feel the undertow steal the sand from beneath my feet and try to carry it back out to sea. I want to watch the sun create crystals that sparkle, shimmy and dance on the waves. I want see the turquoise water of the shoreline deepen to a inky, indigo blue on the horizon. I want the tangy, salty scent of the ocean air to fill my nostrils and my lungs. But mostly, I want the soothing, rhythmic sound of the ocean’s waves to clear my mind and wash the slate clean.