The beach this weekend was amazing beyond words- a place of peace and relaxation like I haven't known in quite some time. Staring out upon the waves crashing upon the shore, seagulls swooping down for crumbs that children left in the sand, hearing the laughter of surfers and sea shell collectors, and thanking God for allowing this moment in time to be what enveloped the last of my teenage years. I've been to the beach many times, although not as many as the typical person living in these parts. My sensitivity to the sun forces me to keep my distance, but once a year I am reunited with the world of paradise. This trip, however, was one like none other- I embraced the nature before me rather than the "fun." Photographs and books reveal this mystery emotion perfectly, but to actually experience it leaves one feeling blessed. To have no place to be, no time to be there, and no walls closing in on all fours is a vacation all in itself. I feel refreshed, thank you Ocean Isle.
Like in all enjoyable aspects of life, the devil tried to intervene this time as well. Before I was diagnosed I had a beautiful pecan tan- believe it or not. After that I was instructed to consider the sun and fluorescent lights enemies. My current paleness would probably be considered my biggest insecurity; however, I manage and usually do not have to face it. On special occasions I get spray tans, and I am the perfect complexion for photographs. This beach trip allowed me to constantly be reminded of how "pale" I really am. My best friend is tan and wears it beautifully, I am pale and I wear it beautifully as well (or at least I like to think so). On several occasions during our trip I was reminded through Facebook picture comments, and by random strangers that I was much different in color than my friend. "One you is tan and the other looks like you haven't been in the sun at all," said a man fishing on the pier. "Yeah, well, I'm allergic to the sun..." I sharply explained as I walked away. I could have said much more, I could have left him feeling like an idiot, I could have walked away in tears, but instead I gave him the least amount of information I felt that he deserved and went on with my life. This reminded me of how we should always be mindful of the things we say. What may seem minor to us may be significantly major to someone else. Especially when speaking to a stranger, be courteous, be thoughtful, keep your thoughts to yourself. Although some things are not visible, they have the potential to be there. I hope that fisherman baited himself a trophy that day...
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