beach novice

learning to swim

Nathan would sometimes ask me about California with wide-eyed curiosity as if he wanted to live vicariously through me. Do you surf? Are you close to the beach? Have you been to Santa Barbara? (He visited the town when he came to California a few years ago). No. Somewhat. I think so, but if I have I don’t remember. The good news is, I’m only two hours away from the coast. “I can go whenever I want,” I brag, knowing I haven’t seen the coast in maybe two years. 

“Mad.”

It makes my friends and family laugh to know that a friend of mine in England surfs. “How does that even work?” I don’t have a good answer. I still find it incredulous. Even more baffling is that I am from sunny California and do not surf, I rarely swim, and what is worse, I am coming to realize I might be afraid of the water. 

Second semester, England was unforgiving. Days got shorter, but it was only midway through the term before I started planning my summer. Oh, Sacramento. The perfect all bark, no bite city. In two hours I could see the coast. In two hours I could be in the mountains. In seven hours I could be in LA. It’s fun to be the girl from California in England where the hypotheticals are just that. It’s hard to be her in my parents’ house. Still, as early as March, Emily and I plan Beach Day. I can bite. I will bite.

I have a trial run at Beach Day in Ostia with Jackie which goes very well. I drink an off-brand Italian Diet Coke and jelly beans and we make our way through a wedge of brie. The water is cold and the rocks on the beach seem to reproach me for stepping on them. I get in the water, but refuse to put my head in. Later, I will think to myself “I wish I was braver”. And yet, my aversion to sand everywhere does not deter my happiness. I lay down, relieved that Jackie doesn’t expect too much conversation. I am content. 

Months pass and the end of term arrives. I land in SFO before May gets out. Beach Day expectations swell with anticipation as the shared playlist gets longer and the start of summer vacation officially commences. Before I know it, Emily and I pick a date.  

The day before is my least favorite, yet all too familiar Lindsay brand of organized chaos. I forget what I might need to bring. So far in my bag I have three different sunscreens, a towel, another towel, and a book. Do I need another book? I oscillate between suits. I don’t love either of my options. In Ostia, Jackie let me borrow hers. I decide on a simple brown one-piece. It draws no attention. No wonder 16-year-old Lindsay picked it out. 

While I am a worrier by nature, I am fairly calm by Wednesday morning. I pack my lunch, a cheese and pickle sandwich and blueberries, excited for Beach Day’s anticipated Beach Sandwiches. My bag is now packed with four sunscreens, my emotional support water bottle, and a Polaroid camera. 

I am buckled in, the long awaited playlist finally starts. Every song is picked by the two of us, but our tastes are so alike that I can’t tell who added what. We’re able to get on the road before 10. And yes, our ETA is almost exactly two hours. When we do finally make it to the beach, it’s a little past noon. I am hungry and I am excited, and I have gotten to say my favorite phrase at least three times “I can see the sea!” As soon as we set up, Emily jumps in the water. I wait behind. She returns for Beach Sandwiches. They are perfect. 

When I go in the water for the first time, I don’t go past the waves, and even though I only stand below waist-deep, a wave hits me and I get completely splashed with water. The waves are freezing and brash. My mascara pools under my eyes. Why did I wear mascara? The humility of the Santa Cruz water makes me laugh, but when I return, I open my book feeling much more content to read in the sun than be in the water. 

For the most part, Emily and I take turns going out to the shore. She always stays longer than I do. I can see her from our spot in the sand. She swims farther than me. She dives with the waves and jumps at just the right time so that she catches the rhythm of the water without succumbing to the aggression I face when they crash on the shore. It is beyond impressive. When we go together, I am determined to keep my head above water again. I don’t want to get my hair wet. Am I truly that vain? I hold both our sunglasses as Emily decides to swim further. I stay further back with my arms out as if I’m balancing on a high beam. “You’re like an old woman,” Emily teases. I open my mouth to deny it, but a wave splashes me with water, and I react as if it has struck me in the face. I run to our spot, throw the pairs of sunglasses down and run back out. I can beach. I will beach. I swim out beyond the waves like Emily says to. She is right. It is much nicer. The water is refreshing when I don’t fear a wave will crash on my head and send my body this way and that. But my head keeps going underwater. My mouth is full of salt. Emily is a good teacher. “You need to swim out further.” I do.  “You’re jumping too early.” The next wave comes and my head stays higher above the water, but I still swallow too much brine.

“Stop fighting the water.”

I am trying my best. I do love being in the water. Yet, everytime I think I am ready to relax, a wave comes that I have to prepare for. I am overwhelmed. In my final moments, the largest wave I’ve seen all day twists me as if I were as light as seaweed, and I feel like I am dying. My head comes up. I gasp for breath. I am done. I leave Emily to enjoy the water. I tried to stop fighting, but the ocean has won. I shake off the salt, and I return to my book. It is solid. It doesn’t move. I can exhale. When Emily returns she says with a smile on her face, “I feel like I'm still in the ocean.” 

We pack up and life is calmer. “I can see the sea” but I don’t have to enter so I am relieved. After a necessary and very well-deserved ice cream stop, we head back on the road. I am tired and sandy, but both Emily and I conclude that Beach Day was a success. Despite my awkwardness, I can’t find faults. The car ride back feels faster. “Ribs” plays twice. By the time Emily pulls up to my house: “I Know the End.” 

As I write now, the backs of my legs are pink and the fronts are white like two thirds of Neapolitan ice cream. I, who states proudly that she does not burn, have dual toned legs. My first sunburn ever, and it is extremely uncomfortable. My mother tells me it was because I was having fun. It is the mark of a good day. She is right, of course. But as I sit with it, I feel embarrassed that I was so careless with my sun protection. The pink flush of summer tattooed on my skin will serve as a souvenir that reminds me of all I have learned from Beach Day and how to go forward this summer. I am not deterred.  

You would think that my worrisome nature wants to keep me on the shore, but I am determined to go back to the beach before summer’s end. Burns will fade. Sand can be swept away. I do not have the command of the water Emily seems to have. I do not have the bravery to float on my back and dive with the current. I admire her ease and her control. She is an expert. I am a novice. But I can learn. I will learn. 

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hi all! tried something new with this post, so let me know what you think! you may more see shorter anecodatal pieces on lindsayland in the upcoming weeks, so if that interests you, subscribe for more! and please wear sunscreen xx