The 90 degree heat, bright sun and clear skies made for an absolutely gorgeous day in the city, but I couldn't help thinking about my family cooking out and hanging on the beach in Maine... without me.
After a little pouting, I decided to join my roommates and head to Chicago's version of the beach: sand patches along Lake Michigan. I had never been, but was both excited and skeptical to see what is was all about. I knew it could never compare to the ocean, the waves or--no offense to my roommates--the company.
Perhaps it's the warm weather and the summer season in general that awakens massive amounts of nostalgia in me. Ever since I was a tyke, I've spent summers adventuring with my family, whether it was camping, trekking down to Pennsylvania in a motor home or spending long weekends up at the cottage in Maine. Days at the beach followed by afternoons sipping on seltzers and noshing on chips, waiting for the evening which would almost always involve a walk on the beach and a trip to Scoop Deck for a massive ice cream cone. Warm memories of clever conversation and comfortable moments of silence are often taken for granted. Now that I know I can't be sitting on that porch talking about nothing with my parents, it means everything.
As I lay on the sand working on my Irish tan (aka sunburn), in between thoughts of sunscreen application and worries of burning to a crisp, I thought fondly about my past but also tried to realize the privileges of my present. Sand is still sand (although it isn't as sticky here), and although this freshwater lake isn't the ocean, it does a good job filling in. As I looked down the beach and out to the water, I saw bright blue water for miles (with the occasional clump of floating seaweed dotting the plain) and people having fun. So why wasn't I joining them?
I decided that I would always have the memories of the ocean, and hopefully a week to spend up in Maine this summer with my family. In the meantime, I need to soak in my surroundings and enjoy being in one of the greatest cities in the world. For example: instead of having to drive through two states to get to the ocean, I only have to walk a mile and a half to get to the lakefront. I have ice cream in the freezer and cold beers in the fridge. And at the rate I talk to myself these days, I can have plenty of clever conversation.
But there will always be an increased amount of nostalgia to sadden me a bit every time the mercury starts rising on days like these. But I just have to remember how I handled today.
When I got home from the beach, I made myself a drink and called my family. Just because the body of water is different, doesn't mean everything else has to change.
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