How Liking the Beach is a Sign of Maturity

Myself admiring a golden sunset hour at Myrtos beach in Kefalonia, Greece.

I lay completely still with my back molded into an army of smooth rocks lining the shore. The lower half of my body is submerged in the sea. Chin pointed to the sun. I breathe in.

Waves crash against my legs, slowly slithering up to my ribcage. Then salty retreat. I focus on each singular breath with pulmonary tunnel vision as the Ionian swallows me whole.

While melting into Myrtos beach, I realize I no longer fear the things I can’t fully touch. The sea and its endless curiosities are not a threat to me. Instead, I embrace the secrets held beneath the surface. Wishing I could hear the sirens gossiping in their deep-sea chrysalis.

I didn’t always like the beach. In fact, growing up, I hated it. Dreaded the days my mother would corral our five-child Brady Bunch into her SUV, boogie boards in hand.

My discontent came from a lack of respect for the simplicities.

I was always the kid whining about how the sand irritated my skin. Or how my wet Justice tankini was glued too tight to my pre-pubescent body.

I’m ashamed to admit that lounging in the sun was not entertaining enough for a spoiled child like me.

Now I admire the beach and its imperfections. How each morsel of sand is not like the rest. How every new wave that barrels in brings different creatures to land.

I recognize my current love for the beach as a sign of growth. I don’t need an enthralling activity or an air-conditioned room to feel satisfied.

The natural world is the greatest form of pleasure this life has to offer.

I’m attempting to reclaim my identity as an “outdoor kid” in my adulthood. I can now relax at the beach for hours on end, observing the mysteries that unfold when water meets Earth in a choreographed ballet.

Hence why during my two weeks off from graduate school, I fled to Greece.

I may be biased, but I believe I witnessed some of the most beautiful beaches in the world during my visit to the "Mamma Mia!" motherland.

Some of my closest friends and I spent the past week in Kefalonia. All stuck together on an ethereal island, without a single responsibility.

Each morning, we woke with the same itinerary as the last—no true plans except exploring one of Kefalonia’s many beaches. As our adorable hatchback rental car neared a new seaside escape every day, it hit me that I have grown to appreciate the beach and its guaranteed serenity.

Sticky sand coating the back of my arms is not worth getting upset over anymore. Instead, I thank the sea gods for allowing me to invade their home.

During our trip, we visited Assos, Antisimo, Foki, Agia Efemia and Myrtos. Each spot had me utterly speechless—my mind totally encapsulated by the seductive qualities of the Ionian Sea. I'd attempt at staring contests with her. Letting her win every time because her beauty outmatched mine.

One of my very good friends, Zoe Potamianos, was our host and unofficial tour guide on the island. Potamianos proudly calls Kefalonia “home.” She has been visiting Kefalonia every summer for over 10 years.

“I remember playing in the waves at Myrtos as a kid and literally getting lost in the water, disassociating from the world for hours at a time,” said Potamianos.

Potamianos’ grandparents were born on the island, and she now spends every summer returning to her village to show respect for her culture and escape from reality.

Zoe Potamianos poses at a popular lookout spot in Kefalonia. She wears a chain with an outline of the island pendant around her neck every day.

Potamianos recommends visiting Kefalonia if you’re considering taking a trip to Greece.

“It’s a hidden gem,” said Potamianos, “if you're looking for an experience that's a little bit of everything while being indulged in the Greek culture, I think it's perfect.”

Having spent a week in Kefalonia, I quickly realized why Potamianos defines the island as her “happy place.” Tight, windy roads carved into mountain sides, baby goats wandering for a spare shrub, fresh baklava and not a cloud in sight--what more could a girl ask for?

Spending so much time seaside during my trip made me hyper aware of my newfound healthy relationship with the beach.

I don't think I could ever go back to hating it. Why bother being aggravated by something that is voiceless, never intending to cause one harm? The shallow complaints I would often cast as a child were a sign of immaturity and selfishness.

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At the end of each day in Kefalonia, we'd pile back into our adorable car. All seven of us packed tight like the neglected toys at the bottom of a claw machine.

The sweaty conditions didn't bother me. I was happy enough to be on an island in the sun, just like Weezer would have wanted.

The shoreline faded in the distance as we rolled away. I stuck my head out the window. Let my crunchy Fran Fine curls dance in the dry air. The salt glued to my scalp inheriting the wind.

I glanced back at the shrinking sea. My expired hatred for the beach drowned out by the silent tide.