Serious homesickness.

Every time I get close to a trip home (I'll be on the ground in Encinitas in 15 days) I get super homesick in the stupidest way. Like, because I know it's coming, all I can think about all day is my feet in the sand and the sun on my face and the frisbee in my hand and the Rico's in my stomach, hahaha. And I'm so lucky to get to head to the homeland so often. Many of my friends maybe make it back for Christmas and part of the summer (lookin' at you, Fletch) and they somehow manage to survive that. I have these extra opportunities and so I get greedy. I mean, just look at this.

















In order to do even remote justice to what the ocean means to me, here's a poem. I didn't write it. Robert Hamma did. I don't know him. But he knows what I feel at the shore.

At this elemental meeting place of earth and sea and sky,
I sense your call to look inward
even as I gaze outward at the horizon.


The waves wash over my feet
and I sink gradually into the sand, 
rooting me in the earth and the sea.


Simply by being here
I know I am part 
of the rhythm of the tide and the energy of the surf.


I am a unique expression
of the endless and varied stream of living things
whose life is your life.


With each wave I sense
the giving and the taking, the tears and the laughter,
the longing and the fulfillment of all living things.


With each wave I am touched
by the constancy of your presence.


And I dare to believe that all shall be well.