I Saw the Ocean...and I Didn't Care

Photo by Maggi Freed

Three years ago today I saw the ocean for the first time and confirmed how I always knew I would feel about it.

We were in New Jersey for a funeral—my husband’s grandmother had passed and I was given one day off from work. She lived in New Jersey and was buried in a military cemetery next to her husband. It was a long trip for me, but I knew it was important for my husband. I hate to travel and suffer from severe travel anxiety, and yet I found myself far away from home, uncomfortable and stressed. The things we do for our spouses…

My mother had come with us, mostly so my husband would not have to drive. I had been to New Jersey only once before for the same grandma’s birthday party a few years earlier. That time my husband drove to his parents’ house in Nazareth, Pennsylvania, and we rode with his parents to the restaurant in New Jersey. His father always drives too fast, similar to my own who often treated the road like a NASCAR track. It was a stressful trip, as expected, just like every trip I have ever taken. I really do hate to travel.

It was cold and windy on the day of the funeral. The family had requested everyone wear red or purple, grandma’s favorite colors. I had a dark red lace dress that was perfect, except that it was both knee length and sleeveless, not a good combo for January in the northeast. I had coincidentally ordered a pair of winter-styled boots from Boscov’s and they had just arrived, but they did not fit, so off to the store I went with my mom, who also needed something to wear.

Boscov’s shoe department was usually a disappointment for my size eleven feet. Most of the women’s boots stop at size ten, leaving me wishing I could have such stylish footwear in my size. That day, I returned the boots that didn’t fit and politely instructed the saleswoman to bring me a pair of no-heeled (or low-heeled) black boots in a size eleven so I had something for the funeral. She cheerfully returned with two pair, and after I tried them on, I bought both.

My knees were exposed just a few inches during the outdoor funeral, but it was bearable. I shielded myself from the wind the best I could during the ceremony, using my husband as a barrier when possible. After the funeral, we gathered with the family at the restaurant where my husband’s aunt worked in Tom’s River, New Jersey. We sat with my husband’s brothers, two vegans at the same table with my husband, my mom, and myself, all strong meat lovers.

When my mom and I were discussing our route home, I noticed on Google Maps that we were just minutes from the ocean. It always seemed important to my husband that I had never seen the ocean, mostly because of my love of pirates. He was surprised when he first found out, expecting that I would have gone to the beach at least once when I was a child. It was never a destination for us—we visited relatives in the Pennsylvania mountains or stayed in a cabin with our neighbors on a lake. We visited Hersheypark and frequented Lancaster, where my maternal grandparents lived. We went to Ohio and stayed with my aunt Cindy, then visited Sea World—back before the world learned it was a terrible place. We were never ocean people, preferring the woods and freshwater fishing.

Some of my husband’s family were excited that I was going to see the ocean for the first time. His aunt, who had taken care of grandma in her final years, was ecstatic that this would happen on that day, as if it would be a life-changing event for me. As if it would be a day I would always remember as something magical. Me, a pirate at heart, finally seeing the ocean for the first time. Their excitement was much greater than my own.

We headed out to Seaside Heights, New Jersey, passing docks with little ships. Though I love tall ships, my interest with seaworthy vessels ends there—I care nothing for little sailboats or yachts and loathe the hideousness of large cruise ships. Those things never impressed me. Tall ships have a history and played a part in the formation of our country, as well as defending it. The Golden Age of Piracy existed because of tall ships, giving us stories of battles, blockades, and men (and a few women) who carved their own path of violence and freedom. Indeed, there are two things I want to see during my time: one of the now-retired space shuttles, and the USS Constitution.

We parked across the street from the beach, a sand dune blocking our view. The wind had picked up the closer we got to the shore, and it had snowed just as we were leaving the restaurant. As we walked toward the ocean, I started to think about how some people felt this was an exciting moment. I knew that people sometimes felt extreme emotions when seeing the ocean for the first time, but I was sure that would not be me. It was just a body of water, nothing more, though a vast one that spans the globe and that is full of life. Still, I doubted I would feel different—I have always been one who prefers trees and plants over sand and water.

We crested the path on the dune and the ocean was in the distance: dark, cold, and wet. It meant nothing to me, as I expected. My mom and husband insisted we walk closer, so we headed out onto the deserted beach. The wind pelted my bare knees with sand, getting stronger the closer we got to the Atlantic. My husband wanted to take a selfie of the two of us, the ocean in the background, while my mom put in her earbuds and put her toe in the cold water. She would be visiting my brother in Florida in a few weeks and wanted to compare water temperatures.

We had to rest when we made it back to the car, my asthma angry from the cold and my mom’s AFib unhappy about the walk over the dune. We had risked our health for something that I knew would mean nothing to me, but at least now I could say that yes, I have seen the ocean. I have seen the cold water that spans the globe. I have been to a real beach and remembered that I hated sand, because, as Anakin Skywalker once said, “it’s coarse, it’s rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

I don’t understand the fascination with the ocean. It’s water. Not drinkable water—it can kill everything that I love the most. It can be deadly and contains the unknown. But we are each different, with different likes and dislikes, keeping life interesting. Perhaps it isn’t so much that I don’t understand the love of the ocean as much as I don’t understand why others would think it would have a profound impact on someone different than themselves. I am a part of nature: trees, flowers, animals, meadows, and so on. The most beautiful things to me are listening to katydids at night, seeing wild animals go about their day, smelling flowers like my lilac or my garden phlox, touching the grass in your bare feet, or eating the mulberries off of the native Red Mulberry tree.

Have people become so self-centered that they find it impossible that someone does not like the same things they do? When I expressed my disinterest in seeing the ocean, it was dismissed as if I were covering jealousy that others had experienced something I had not. After my trip to the Atlantic, my disinterest was dismissed as if I were covering up excitement, trying to maintain some fictional satisfaction that I reached a life goal that never existed. I truly have no interest in the ocean, or at least in real life. I’ll visit it in video games and continue to write about pirates, but those are fictional worlds. In real life, I simply do not care.

I’ll take an old oak tree, with its massive trunk, abundant shade, seasonal display of colors, and branches full of birds and squirrels—I will take that over the ocean in a heartbeat.