Ever since I can remember, I’ve dreamed of living at the beach.

I would fantasise about a little weatherboard shack, perched by the edge of the sand. The beach wouldn’t be crowded, and I would swim at it everyday.

I’d fall asleep and wake up to the sound of the waves and spend my mornings watching the surf on my veranda with a hot steaming cuppa in hand. The water would sparkle a deep rich, blue, and I wouldn’t end a day without going for a dip.

My hair would always be crinkled and salty, and the words would flow from my pen in the evenings. Board games were a must; and barbecues with friends would occur weekly under a canopy of fairy lights.

Stormy days would be always be my favourite. I’d make something cosy, like pumpkin soup or vegetable curry, and curl up inside with a good book as the weather thrashed the world around me.

It was in this shack that I’d write many articles and books. My writing dreams would be my reality, and I’d spend my days creating rituals that sparked the words.

I would shop at local markets and wear sustainable clothes. I’d light soy candles in the evenings and play records whose music would drift out into the sea.

I’d surf, badly, and take long walks when my mind was cluttered. I’d visit the city when I needed a little more chaos, but always return to the tranquility of my beachside home.

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This, of course, hasn’t happened yet. Maybe writing it all in past tense means I will manifest it to happen in the years to come (please, Universe). Either way, it’s always been a fond almost-memory of mine.

Living by the beach has always been romantic in my books. Everyone just seems to happy and healthy and alive. They cherish their time outside and in the waves. They respect the ocean and all its power.

It’s how I’ve always felt, but have never had the opportunity to live out as I’ve fondly imagined.

Last year, we moved to Holloways Beach. It’s not exactly the beach of our dreams, and we live in a duplex instead of a quirky shack, but the symbolism is here, nonetheless. We can walk down to the beach. We can swim in the stinger net if we’re feeling brave (crocodiles also live in this area, apparently). We can eat fish and chips by the water, and watch people kite surf and fish and walk their dogs of an afternoon.

It’s not exactly what I pictured, but for now it will do. I have a strong sense of comfort, knowing how close I am to the ocean. It’s hard to explain, but I’m sure those who live by it will understand. It’s calming. It’s magical. It’s home.

Although I crave living in cities like Melbourne and New York, I know I will ultimately always end up back by the sea.

Writing and salt water sounds like a pretty good combo to me.

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February 18, 2019

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