I have to get to the beach more often. Put simply, I’m happier there. I don’t know what it is, but the moment I start walking on the sand, and see the waves, and hear the ocean, there’s a physical metamorphosis. No joke. I can feel my shoulders relax, my heart rate slow, my blood pressure drop. This is not a bit; it’s my reality. As such, I’ve often dreamed of moving to the beach. In fact, I’ve said it out loud a few times. In fact, I’ve said it out loud to my wife a few times. And being that she’s smarter than me and has more common sense, she’s pointed out the following: A) We’re not moving to the beach, we have children in school and our life is here, B) we couldn’t afford to “live at the beach,” at least the way I envision it, which is basically having a Malibu-type house inches from the sand in some tropical enclave and C) if I need to go to the beach so bad, just go to the freaking beach already and shut up, it’s literally 45 minutes down the road, which means in the time it took for you to complain about how you’re not at the beach, you could’ve been at the beach, you dope. I’d like to say I’m paraphrasing point “C” above, but nope, that’s pretty much the speech I get. And continue to get. But for real: It’s a 45-minute ride to Belmar. And as long as the weather is, say, not Arctic-like, I’m pretty happy to just be on the beach. Sure, I’d prefer 85 and sunny, but I can handle 50 and sunny. It has the same effect on me. Calms me down. So why don’t I go more often? That’s a great question. One I’ve asked myself a hundred times. I mean, my wife is right—it’s 45 minutes away. And yet, I find all these excuses: too busy with work, kids have activities, something always comes up. But deep down, I know that’s just me making excuses. I could easily carve out a couple of hours here or there, hop in the car, and feel the sand under my feet by lunchtime. Or, heck, I can shoot down there after the kids go off to school, be there by 8 a.m., get an hour of peace, and be back at my desk by 10 a.m. It’s not that hard. Maybe it’s the classic case of taking things for granted. We often do that with the things closest to us, right? We overlook them because we know they’ll always be there. But the truth is, time slips away. Weeks, months go by, and before you know it, I’m standing in the middle of February, wondering why I didn’t seize those perfect fall beach days when I had the chance. And yes — right now is the perfect time. Still have those temps in the 70s. And as long as it’s sunny … So, here’s the deal—I need to stop overcomplicating it. I don’t need a grand escape or some Malibu mansion fantasy. I just need to hop in the car and go. The beach is my happy place, and it’s not that far. And I’ll bet I’m not the only one who’s guilty of putting off something that brings them peace. Next time the thought hits me — when the urge for that sea air and those crashing waves pulls at me — I’m just going to go. No more excuses. I’ll be at the 15th Street area. Come say hello.