The diary of almost everything

The strange thing is that two weeks of spring holiday barely felt like a holiday at all, and yet two long weekends in a row somehow immediately convinced me that working only three days a week sounds like an excellent lifestyle choice.

Last weekend was Holy Thursday. This weekend is Pentecost. And somehow these weekends already felt more like freedom than the actual May holiday did.
Maybe because the weather during the holiday itself was a bit disappointing, and before I fully realised I was supposed to feel rested, it was already over again.
Meanwhile now, suddenly, the sun is out, everybody is outside, and life immediately feels lighter.

As mentioned in my previous story, my tennis racket has now officially been restrung, which means my comeback era is becoming alarmingly real. The only slightly unfortunate detail is that the moment I walked into the shop to hand over the racket, I immediately felt that old tension pulling through my right arm again, like my nervous system gently whispering: “remember the sports anxiety?”
Yes, thank you. Very supportive.
Still, the racket is ready. The wall awaits. And at some point soon I will once again be aggressively hitting tennis balls into concrete while trying to emotionally reconnect with my forehand.

But this weekend belonged entirely to the beach.
Yesterday I spent the whole day there, and this morning I got up and did exactly the same thing again because apparently my entire personality between May and September revolves around locating sunlight as efficiently as possible.

I always arrive ridiculously early, usually around nine o’clock, not because I am spiritually evolved, but because the parking there is still free and every Dutch person with access to sunscreen apparently knows this.
By half past nine the place turns into survival of the fittest.
Friends always say: “Oh I’ll join you!”
Until I explain what time I leave…
Then suddenly everybody decides they might “come later.”

Which of course means they eventually arrive stressed, overheated, parked somewhere near Belgium, and already annoyed before even reaching the beach entrance, while I am sitting there fully relaxed like a deeply smug little beach veteran.
I always greet them trying not to laugh too hard while internally resisting the overwhelming urge to say: “This could all have been avoided if you had respected my parking strategy.”

Meanwhile I am already fully settled on my beach bed with a café latte, sunscreen, fruit and a book, carrying only the absolute essentials because nothing ruins beach peace faster than dragging a heavy bag through hot sand like a dehydrated pack mule.

And honestly, I love it there.
The moment you walk through the dunes and hear the sea somewhere in the background, something in your body immediately softens. People are happier when the sun is out. The atmosphere changes completely.
Even I change completely.
Beach Sophie is calm, organised and emotionally balanced.
Regular Sophie still forgets at least three things at the supermarket.

I can happily spend hours there alone, give me a beach bed  and I am completely content.
Although somewhere around lunchtime I inevitably start doing small life admin things from my phone because apparently being relaxed immediately activates the productive side of my brain too.
Suddenly I remember emails. Returns. Appointments. Things I still need to order.

What I also love about this beach is that it just feels normal.
No strange snob energy, no people aggressively performing wealth in matching designer outfits. No feeling that everybody is secretly judging each other.
Just families, couples, groups of friends, children running around, adults reading books, people trying to tan responsibly for approximately twelve minutes before turning bright pink anyway.
It feels easy there.

At some point yesterday I caught myself staring at the apartments facing the sea again and immediately started wondering how much they cost, which naturally ended with me scrolling through property websites.

Every single summer I do this.
I fantasise about living near the sea, waking up with the sound of waves outside, grabbing coffee downstairs, sitting on a balcony in the morning sun while the rest of the world rushes somewhere else entirely.
And honestly, how wonderful must that feel?
Although every single time I also arrive at the exact same conclusion: twenty minutes driving to the beach is actually more than reasonable considering the price of beachfront apartments.
Still, if I ever win the lottery, I am absolutely buying one or maybe two.
One here and one somewhere warm.
And honestly, who knows! Hard work, a little luck, and perhaps one day I will become the type of person who casually lives near the sea fulltime.

Meanwhile I react to sunshine with the urgency of someone who fully understands Dutch weather cannot be trusted long term.
A friend texted me yesterday saying she absolutely hates the heat, which I found so confusing that my immediate response was basically: “Have you considered Scandinavia?”
Because the second temperatures rise above twenty degrees, I am already mentally calculating where I can sit outside, preferably directly in the sun like some kind of solar-powered lizard.
And maybe that is exactly why these days feel so good.

Not because anything spectacular happens,
But because for a little while life becomes very simple: sun on your skin, the sound of the sea, nowhere urgent to be, and the temporary feeling that things might actually work out just fine after all.

-Sophie Quinn