I did a quick search to see if I’d shared this story before. I found The ocean calls me and Ocean waves, but not the following, so I’ll contribute further to my stories of the ocean’s grasp on me.
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My first decade was spent living a five minute walk from the beach. From that distance, the ocean was a constant sound in the distance. I can only describe the sound with oxymoronic phrases: a dull roar or a gentle rumble. There was no distinct sound of individual waves, only the ever-present whispering thunder. In fact, I often wouldn’t even hear it unless I listened for it, since it was so constant it was as if it wasn’t there.
I remember a couple times when we rented a beach house just steps away from the ocean. I used to love lying in bed and hearing the individual waves crash against the shore. This was a treat. Each crash anew, almost but not quite the same as the last. I enjoyed the sound the waves make as they recede off the beach, followed by the crash of the next wave.
I would fight sleep to listen longer. That’s the memory that sticks with me, being lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds while simultaneously desiring to stay awake… to hear more waves crashing, and receding off of the beach.
To this day I long for the sound of waves crashing. I use this sound as the backdrop to my guided meditation. I am drawn to the beach while others prefer to be poolside. The ocean calls me, and I am happier when close to the vast horizon behind a rumbling shoreline.
