Do some kind of intro that links to shelter island post.
(Also don’t forget to make a reference to Joe)
It’s funny how the seaside calls me sometimes as an escape, and yet also somehow feels like a piece of home at the same time. It’s a strange yet pleasant double sensation, like somehow being present and reminiscing at the same time. I’ll have to dig into that a bit more in another post, I have a feeling it runs in my family.
Initial voice dump:
At the risk of writing too long, this could be a good opportunity to work in an anecdote about how my mother also is like this about the ocean calling her. I remember pretty much my entire life her just getting these almost like heat flashes or whatever sort of description we can come up with for this upwelling that would come from inside and hearing her say, quote, I need to smell some salt air, end quote, or quote, I need to smell the ocean, end quote. The neighborhood we live in now is very close to where I grew up and reminds me of it quite a bit, slightly inland suburbs with lots of great outdoors, trees, lakes, trails, that kind of thing. But for some of us, there’s this subconscious magnetic draw to the ocean that we just can’t explain. I’m not into astrology or horoscopes, but it was amusing to me that my mom would always explain this connection we both had to the sea by pointing out the fact that I’m an Aquarius. I don’t know what it is, but we both love swimming. Both my parents love swimming, actually, but that’s different. My dad can take a dip in the pool and be fine, and so can my mom, but for my mom, it doesn’t quell this need to go to the water. I was born abroad, not here in San Diego, but even then, even though it’s a completely different city, Istanbul is massive and ancient and exotic and busy and humming with life. But it also has the Bosphorus cutting right through it, and some of my favorite memories are of taking the ferries across it. When I worked at an investment bank in Istanbul for a summer in college, the bank was on the Western European side, while I stayed with my grandmother on the Eastern Asian side, which is where the rest of my mother’s family is as well. Although there was a free bus service to work, and I was getting paid peanuts, so on paper I should have just taken that every single time. And it was faster than the alternatives because the metro hadn’t connected to go under the Bosphorus yet. I would still scrape together my meager paycheck and spend some of it a couple times a week on taking the ferry instead, even though it was longer and I had to pay money, it was like a soul recharge, I can’t even explain. I never got sick of it once, all summer. I must have taken it dozens of times. And I even have memories of being sentimental on my last ferry trip, where I had actually stayed long enough on the Western side for once, after work, to hang out with co-workers and have a final goodbye, that it was dark on the way back, and it was night time, and there were fireworks above the cruise ships, and seeing the mosques and palace, and I just watched it all, and took it all in, and had a moment.
Chatgpt’s cleaned up version that’s a little too sterile/corny/not me:
Maybe it’s something I inherited from my mom — this almost physical pull toward the ocean. My whole life, she’s had these moments where she’ll suddenly stop and say, “I need to smell some salt air,” or “I need to smell the ocean.” It’s like something wells up inside her and she just has to go.
The neighborhood we live in now reminds me of where I grew up — slightly inland suburbs with trees, lakes, and trails — all beautiful in their own way. But for some of us, there’s this subconscious magnetic draw to the coast that you just can’t explain. I’ve never been into astrology or horoscopes, but it always amused me that my mom would point out that I’m an Aquarius, as if that somehow made sense of it.
Both my parents love swimming, but my mom’s need for the ocean has always felt different. My dad can take a dip in a pool and be satisfied. For my mom, it doesn’t quite scratch the itch. She needs to go to the sea itself.
I was born abroad, in Istanbul — a city that couldn’t be more different from San Diego in some ways, but shares that same deep connection to the water. The Bosphorus cuts right through it, and some of my favorite memories are of taking the ferry across it.
When I worked there for a summer during college, at an investment bank on the European side, I stayed with my grandmother on the Asian side where the rest of my mom’s family lived. There was a free bus to work — and considering I was being paid almost nothing, that’s what I should have taken. It was faster, too, since the metro hadn’t yet tunneled under the Bosphorus.
But I’d still scrape together part of my tiny paycheck and take the ferry a few times a week. It was longer, it cost money, but it felt like a soul recharge I couldn’t do without. I never got tired of it, not once all summer. I must have taken it dozens of times.
On my last trip, after a farewell with coworkers on the European side, I remember standing on the deck at night — fireworks above the cruise ships, the mosques and palaces lit up against the sky — and just taking it all in. The sound of the water, the hum of the city, that feeling of being suspended between two worlds. I didn’t know it at the time, but it would become one of those memories that stays with you, quietly resurfacing whenever you catch the scent of salt air again.