The Oregon Coast is a very special place to me. I was born on the east coast, and shortly before my brother was born my family moved to Lincoln City, where I lived until I was 4 or 5. All of my formative memories are from times on the coast, from riding my tricycle on the beach just a block from our house, to being caught in a sneaker wave and my dad sprinting into the ocean to come save me from being washed away. Every time I revisit these places I’m filled with a weird feeling of nostalgia and sadness - not because the memories I have are sad, but because this place probably won’t be around for much longer - at least not the way we’ve come to know it.
The last time. I woke up at 5:30 to watch the moon fade and the sun stain the clouds a hazy red. We’re docked in Honolulu and the vessel feels like a dead thing, no longer rolling beneath us in the swell. Land smells strange. Buildings seem impossible. I am still unsure whether I belong here.