If Only Life Was Really A Beach. Or Something Like That.

I’m in San Diego for the weekend. (Yay!) Jim and I decided not to wait until January to take a quick trip out of town like we have for the past two years, and when we were discussing our December Destination, the only requirements were that it would be warmer than Chicago AND that we could use airline miles to get there. I thought of Southern California immediately because it’s truly one of my favorite places in the whole world. He really doesn’t like Los Angeles very much, so I suggested San Diego and he was all for it.

It’s not lost on me, by the way, that I have been lucky enough to walk on the shores of the Atlantic AND the Pacific in the same four week period. I mean, how cool is that?? I’m feeling TOTAL appreciation for my ability to travel right now.

It only took two days, visits to two beaches, and my constantly saying things like “OH MY GOSH, ISN’T THIS BEAUTIFUL?”, “I LOVE THE OCEAN!”, and “DON’T YOU LOVE THIS?” about two thousand times each before he asked me, “Why is it that you love the beach so much?”

I told him that I love the sound of the ocean. I love the ocean air. I love walking in the sand. I love the beauty of it all. Most of all, being at the beach makes me feel more at peace than almost anywhere else, for some reason. For all of those reasons, I guess.

He asked me what I want to do today after I pick him (and his rented bike) up on top of Mount Soledad in La Jolla, and I casually mentioned that I’d like to go to Mission Beach. And Pacific Beach. You know, since we’ll be in that area anyway. After that, lunch somewhere—perhaps Point Loma, because waves crashing on cliffs!—and then I will look into another beach visit for tomorrow morning before we head to the airport. I mean, I need to squeeze in all of the ocean-created peace I can, right?