I’m not a beach girl. I don’t worship the sun. I don’t bronze myself in coconut oil and sip cocktails on beach chairs. I usually have a two or three hour tolerance limit for beaching. But this trip to Miami was different. Armed with a loaded Kindle, a sun hat and humid heat, our three beach days turned out to be heaven. The reading, cloud watching, regular sea soaks and occasional summer downpours turned me into a believer.
I get it now. Beach days connect us with our bodies and minds and what it means to exist in the absence of email and cell phones and offices and due dates.
