If I had to choose a religion, the sun as the universal giver of life would be my god.
― Napoleon Bonoparte
I am solar-powered. I am fueled by the sun. I am happy when I am outside and in the heat under a blazing cloudless sky. I appreciate the sweat that pools in the small of my back and the hitch that collects in my lungs as I run on a humid summer morning. I love the feel of the sun on my face. I relish in walking out of my air-conditioned building and into the steam of the hot parking lot. I enjoy the slow burn on my shoulders as I speed down the freeway with my sunroof open on a 100-degree day.
But I am at my happiest when I am warmed by the world and rolling on the beach. I adore the feel of hot sand against my slick skin. I love the warmth, the heat, the blaze, the sun. I want to forgo the barrier of cotton and lay with my arms spread wide and my legs stretched long. I dream about burrowing into the fine rocky grains and hearing the beat of the waves through the ground. The beach makes the best music.
I will gleefully sit at a bar with the sweat still drying on my brown arms. I will roam town with sand still stuck to the back of my legs and nestled in my bleached hair. To the chagrin of my most treasured one, I have no qualms with sharing my sandy self. I will crawl into his car, and into our bed and leave traces of it behind. Two days after I have returned to Raleigh, Jason will still inadvertently exfoliate himself by rolling over onto my side of the sheets.
So when Jason suggested that we move one of our residences to the beach, it was difficult to contain my delirium. Don’t get me wrong, the thought had certainly crossed my little mind before. But I had struggled with how to form it into reality. And then he did it. In one email and one conversation he turned it into something viable and realistic and seemingly like the best idea that had ever been put forth for us and our relationship. It involved coffee on decks, and sunsets, and family, and wine, and walks along the coast, and shorter drives, and a future, and days and days and days of Sarah rolling joyfully in the hot summer sand. Perhaps he relished in the idea of us being able to walk to the water and me no longer needing to step my sandy self into his car. Or perhaps he envisioned me going straight for the shower instead of the bed after a delightfully blistering day. Or maybe he simply listened and observed and caught me at my happiest and wanted to see me there always. I am happy to share my joy with him.
So the quest begins. The quest for the imperfect house in the perfect place. The beach, the sand, us, the dog, friends and family, and the sun. The sun, the sun, the sun. Solar-powered Sarah is happy.