Going home again

They say you can’t go home again. And for a guy like me, with a rather peripatetic lifestyle, that’s rarely been much of a concern. I make it a habit to “go places” rather than to “go back” to places so the number of repeat visits I’ve logged is relatively low. Except for one particular spit of sand on Florida’s Atlantic coastline. And, while it was never actually my home, the visits do rather feel like being home again.

Part of that is the familiarity of having been so often. Some days I’m convinced I could make the 60ish mile drive from the airport to the front door with my eyes closed. The few restaurants we’ve eaten at for 30+ years are mostly still there and mostly the same. I’m pretty sure that my first meal at the world famous Oasis restaurant was a fried fish sandwich. At least two of my meals this weekend will be that same sandwich. And even though I probably shouldn’t be eating that much fried food it really is delicious and the beers are ice cold.

More than the familiarity, though, is the part where it is so welcoming and comforting to be here. Part of that is the people and part of it is the environment in general. Relaxed & friendly, almost on “island time” but without the unreliable aspect that often brings into play.

And there’s the part where, time after time, the views are simply spectacular.

I’ve visited more beaches than I can probably remember. And, in many cases, they’re not worth remembering, mostly because they simply don’t measure up to “home.” This little spit of sand, however, remains my favorite in the world.