I am not an Aussie.
I cannot even try to pretend I am an Aussie.
When I try to be an Aussie, bad things happen … like shots of Jager getting poured directly from the bottle into my mouth.
Covered in sunscreen (SPF 30) and armed with my book and a sheet to layout, I headed to the beach.
The sky looked a bit threatening that morning … teetering between sun and clouds and sunny with clouds, so I wasn’t sure if a beach day was even possible. But, I had to make it to the Atlantic Ocean.
I grew up with the Atlantic Ocean. Every summer my family would venture the three hour trip and spend time at the beach. I would stare out over the horizon and wonder what was on the other side.
One day, I will be on the other side of the ocean.
That day happened in May 2010 … in Lagos, Portugal.
I stepped onto the beach and was immediately struck by its beauty. The ocean in Lagos is so much prettier than the mucky Mid-Atlantic Ocean where I used to swim. It is green and blue and bright and gorgeous and lined with the most magnificent cliffs I have ever seen.
I threw my stuff on the sand, tossed my dress to the ground and walked into the water.
Holy hell, it’s cold.
I had to swim.
I walked further into the water, lungs hurting, goosebumps emerging.
Come on, D.
Then, I went for it.
Balls to the walls, man.
I dipped under.
And then, it wasn’t so bad. And then, I was swimming! Past the cliffs, turning around and looking back at the shore.
So, that’s what the other side of the Atlantic Ocean looks like.