in which i pinch myself because surely i must be dreaming
Right outside my door is Paradise. Alex and I sat on the dock last night watching the kids swim and catch crabs, and just kept shaking our heads saying how lucky we are to live in this beautiful spot. I realize people go their whole life wishing they could live by the ocean, and somehow we managed to find our way to this tiny slice of Heaven where the kids can splash and play until their bodies are so filled with sunlight and joy and their little fingers and toes are completely crinkled from hugging the sea.
It certainly was more luck than anything, finding this house tucked away on south side of the Basin, surrounded by bird sanctuary where the plovers come to nest and next to the only little breakfast joint on the island right across from the beach, that and the fact that we totally deserved to find peace after a traumatic initial foray into home ownership. It's nothing fancy for sure. The house is small and unassuming. The roof sometimes leaks, the windows need to be replaced, and the all the rooms could use a new coat of paint. Minor details that dissolve on a day like this.
I love this house, this spot really, and it scares me a bit to say that because I know we won't always live here and maybe I wish we could. It's probably why I haven't painted, why I haven't hung many pictures on the walls and staked my claim in the 6 years we've lived here, because I'll have to say goodbye someday. My kids will have to let go too and maybe that's the most prickly thought. I have no idea when that time will come, mind you, but there is something unsettling about the idea of home being at all temporary. That's the hardest part, the unknown, yet it does seem silly to fret over what might happen "someday". Another reminder, I suppose, to live in the beauty of the moment, to truly be here in my life. I think it's time to finally paint these walls, because I am here, wide awake, living this wild-hearted seaside dream.