What I remember about the ocean: jumping waves, sand castles, collecting seashells, majestic seagulls, fresh salty air, writing really bad poetry to the sound of rumbling waves, falling asleep on the way home, going home to a hot shower and a head full of memories.
What I now understand about the ocean: endless packing and preparations, two-hour commutes with restless children in the back, lugging ten times your body weight to and from the car, chasing two-year-olds off everyone else’s blankets, rats with wings, fighting highway traffic while everyone else snoozes in the backseat, going home to vacuuming, laundry and a bathtub of sandy kids.
Still, at the end of the day, with grit under your nails and salt in your hair, you realize the magic can never be lost.