I live by the sea, in an affluent bay-side suburb called Manly. I do not own a house here; I rent with a friend. I’m that person who has no money yet somehow manages to get around in Louis Vuitton and Jimmy Choos (figuratively speaking). There is a great deal of luck involved. Or a misapplication of funds.
I like living in Manly for many reasons. To begin with, it is idyllic. There are wide streets lined by leafy trees and picturesque houses. You cannot go anywhere without seeing young families together; children play and ride bikes, and people exercise and walk their dogs along the esplanade.
I like it because it’s a place that has grown affluent organically, and the generations of families who call it home are by and large unpretentious and hard working.
I also like it because it is beautiful. It is a township of cafes and boat harbours and yacht clubs, and stunning views of Moreton Bay. You can smell sea air even when you cannot sight the ocean. You can ride your bike along the water front of an evening and be treated to views of tall white sails and islands buoyed in the deep turquoise.
But mainly, I like it because it is so close to the sea, and to me, the sea is all allure and unfathomable mystery. The sea is constant and unpredictable all at once, and speaks a language which both confuses and fascinates me.
How comforting is the utter timelessness of the sea! Knowing that from time immemorial it has looked the same, acted the same, smelt the same. How the sea itself must also keep to the beat of some other drum to maintain its own unbreakable rhythm. For all that it can be wild and terrifying, it is not exempt from the constant, rhythmic laws of nature. It will never do anything which it has never done before. I find this incredibly anchoring.
On weekends, and those weekdays when I am home early enough from work, I like riding my bike down to the water and finding some secluded nook from which to watch the sun set, or rather the effects thereof. The sun doesn’t actually set over the water, but the reflected colours are spectacular. If the moon is rising, it is magical.
It is usually during these times that I cannot help thinking existential thoughts (which I won’t bore you with) and ponder whether the presence of such beauty on earth is meant to remind us of something higher and forgotten. I guess I won’t know for sure in this life time.
It’s also at these times, alone and surrounded by the majesty of nature, that I think most about my family and friends, and wish to be closer and more connected to them, as though in connecting to the purity of the sea and sky and grass, I must connect to other elements too. What are we humans if not elements of nature? It is so precious to be human and alive and capable of feeling love for each other.
I like that this is a pleasure in life that is free to all, as are the reflections that follow.
The backdrop of picturesque houses and yachts with white sails is pleasant, but for all that it is, it’s just an accompaniment. Like billions before me, my questions fly out to the sea and sky, the great beyond, and I will wait and listen for answers which, in a way, will still come from me.
After all, we are all made of the same stuff.
