The diary of almost everything

On the first truly warm day of a holiday, I can spend a surprising amount of time debating whether I should go to the beach, as if the beach is a complicated life decision instead of a twenty-five minute drive.
The plan had been clear: Beach.

I had even considered going the day before, until I noticed the wind coming from the wrong direction, which, in my mind, immediately translated into sand in places where sand has no business being, and a general sense of mild discomfort that I was not willing to sign up for, so I stayed home instead, fully committed to my own outdoor space as if that had been the plan all along.
But today was different.
The temperature had climbed, the wind had adjusted itself into something far more cooperative, and somewhere in the back of my mind there was a voice that said this was the day, the kind of day you would later regret not using properly.

Which is where things became complicated.
Because knowing you want to go somewhere and actually getting yourself there are, as it turns out, two entirely different skills.
For a solid forty-five minutes I managed to have a very thorough discussion with myself that covered all possible angles, including but not limited to the strength of the wind, the potential crowds, the exact timing of my departure, whether I should wear a bikini or something more strategically layered, and the slightly ridiculous but very real question of where one should ideally have breakfast in relation to the chosen beach.

Noordwijk offered better breakfast options, that much was clear, but came with the undeniable downside of expensive beach beds, which felt slightly unnecessary considering I am perfectly capable of lying on a towel like a normal person, although experience has also taught me that my back has developed a strong preference for comfort over principle, and once you have experienced a proper beach bed, going back to a towel suddenly feels like a lifestyle downgrade.

Kijkduin, on the other hand, felt more familiar and slightly more reasonable, especially when it came to prices, but lacked the same level of breakfast excitement, which is not a minor detail when food has somehow become part of the decision-making process.

To make things even more unnecessarily complicated, the choice between the two wasn’t something I could casually postpone, because they require entirely different directions, which meant that by the time I reached the first roundabout, I was already expected to commit to a version of my day that I was still actively negotiating.

I turned left: Kijkduin.
A decision that felt both decisive and slightly premature.
Somewhere halfway there, I briefly reconsidered, wondering if Noordwijk might still be the better option, but by then I was already committed enough to convince myself that continuing forward was the only reasonable thing to do, which is often how these decisions end.

Momentum over logic.
And once you are driving, the option of turning around becomes increasingly less attractive, especially when you know that the entire internal debate will simply restart itself the moment you do.
So I kept going and of course, the moment I arrived, the entire discussion dissolved instantly, because the sun was exactly where it needed to be, the air felt right, and the sea had that calm, reassuring presence that makes you wonder why you ever considered staying home in the first place.

So there I was, stretched out on the beach, fully committed to the experience, properly covered in factor fifty because I know myself well enough to know that this is exactly the kind of situation where things can go from “this is going well” to “why am I suddenly bright red” in a very short amount of time, and this year I have decided that I am simply not participating in that particular outcome.

A good coffee within reach and a roastbeef sandwich that was exactly what I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
And a book next to me that I am absolutely going to read, because once I start a book I genuinely enjoy, I disappear into it in the best possible way, even though I am also fully aware that the first twenty minutes at the beach are usually spent staring at the sea as if that counts as an activity.

And that, I realised, is perhaps the most interesting part of days like this.
Not the destination or even the great weather, but the fact that we can make something so simple feel unnecessarily complicated, only to arrive at the exact place we already knew we wanted to be.

It is the same kind of internal negotiation that shows up in other areas, like deciding whether to book a holiday, weighing the appeal of a week somewhere warm against the very practical reality of expenses that seem to appear exactly when you start considering something nice, including things like upcoming vet visits that somehow manage to feel both essential and financially aggressive at the same time.

It becomes a continuous calculation of choices, of what is sensible and what is enjoyable, of saving and spending, of staying and going, as if there is a correct answer somewhere that we are expected to find, while in reality most people are just making it up as they go along and hoping it works out.

Some people seem to wake up, decide to go to the beach, and simply go.
No debate, no strategy and no full internal committee meeting…..I am clearly not those people.

And yet, lying there in the sun, none of that felt particularly urgent.
Not the decision about a future holiday, not the question of whether I should be saving more, not even the ongoing curiosity about how some people manage to put aside impressive amounts of money while still appearing to live a full life. All of it could wait!

Because sometimes the most useful decision is simply to stop deciding for a moment.
To accept that not everything needs to be optimised, planned, or justified.
To recognise that a good day does not come from making the perfect choice, but from eventually making one and sticking with it long enough to enjoy it.
And if that choice happens to involve the sea, a decent coffee, and the satisfaction of having out-argued your own overthinking for once, then maybe the real victory was never the beach, but the fact that you went at all.

-Sophie Quinn