Sand Between Shifts

Tag: travel

  • Take Me to the Beach

    There’s something about the beach that softens everything sharp. It softens my shoulders, my breath, my grip on the never-ending to-do list I carry in my head like a shadow. It’s the one place where I can truly exhale. Not just the kind of exhale we fake between tasks, but the kind that feels like it comes from somewhere deep in the chest as if my soul finally unclenched.

    At home, I struggle to sit still. My couch can feel like a trap, my phone a constant buzz of reminders and expectations. Even rest starts to feel like another box I need to check off properly. And so I pace. I clean. I worry. I do, and do, and do, until I forget what it means to simply be.

    But take me to the beach, and suddenly, the rules change.

    It doesn’t matter if I’ve been productive that week or if my inbox is overflowing. It doesn’t matter what time it is, what day it is, or how many things I should be doing. When my toes hit the sand, and the sound of the waves rises to meet me, all that noise just… dissolves. There’s only sunshine, salt air, and the rhythm of the ocean, like a lullaby for the nervous system.

    It’s not just the peace; it’s the permission. The beach gives me the rare and sacred permission to rest without guilt. To lie back in my chair, put on some country or rock (depending on the mood), and let the world go on without me for a little while. And somehow, it always does.

    The ocean speaks in a language that bypasses the mind entirely. It’s not logical or productive. It’s primal and timeless. When I sit at the edge of it all, waves rushing in and out, gulls circling above, the sun dipping lower, I remember who I am outside of the rush. I remember what matters. I remember how blessed I am.

    And the best part? I get to share that space with someone I love. My boyfriend and I have made the beach a sacred place for ourselves. It is our quiet retreat, a reset button, a memory bank that we keep building together. There’s nothing better than sitting side by side, feeling the breeze tangle through your hair, exchanging a glance that says: Yeah, this is the good stuff.

    The beach reminds me that life doesn’t always have to be a race or a performance. Sometimes, it’s enough to exist. To breathe. To feel joy without conditions.

    So, if you’re like me, if you ever find yourself stuck in that loop of doing, fixing, and proving, consider this your invitation to unplug. To find your shore. To trade burnout for bare feet and pressure for peace. Take a break, take a beat, and take yourself to the beach.

    You might just find that everything you were searching for was waiting for you in the waves all along.

  • Memorial Day Weekend Reflections: Gratitude, Garden Statues, and Boardwalk Bliss

    This past Memorial Day Weekend was one for the books. The Jersey Shore weather was a little breezy, but the skies stayed bright, and we made the absolute most of it. The kind of weekend that makes you pause and truly soak in how good life can be.

    Saturday kicked off with a solo trip to the Somers Point farmer’s market. There’s something deeply comforting about wandering through rows of fresh produce, handmade goods, and vibrant blooms. I picked up a bouquet that instantly breathed new life into our home—just one of those small joys that quietly transforms your whole day.

    After that, I headed about thirty minutes inland to Gene’s Farm and Garden Center. I’ve had my eye on a classic concrete birdbath for a while, and I knew they’d have a great selection. Sure enough, Gene’s didn’t disappoint. They have what they call “the concrete garden,” an open expanse of land covered with every kind of garden statue, birdbath, and concrete décor imaginable. It was whimsical, peaceful, and exactly the kind of quirky, hidden gem I love stumbling upon.

    Later that day, we had our first overnight guests at our new home, my boyfriend’s sister and her husband made the trip down from Pennsylvania. Hosting them felt like a little milestone for us, and it was so special to share our space with family. We went out to Josie Kelly’s for dinner—there was live music, great food, and even a few familiar faces from high school floating around. For a holiday weekend, I was pleasantly surprised that we didn’t run into any chaos trying to find parking or grab a table. It felt like the town saved a spot just for us.

    Sunday morning was slow and sweet. We took a walk to a nearby park, showing off a bit of our neighborhood charm to our guests. Then we headed to the Ocean City boardwalk, a place so full of nostalgia it almost hums. We hit all the classics: the arcade, Manco’s Pizza, and Johnson’s Popcorn. You know the drill. Even with the crowds, it still feels like a rite of passage to walk that boardwalk when the season begins.

    After saying goodbye to our guests later that day, we met up with my best friend to check out one of the newer bars in Margate called Sunrise. It was Knicks vs. Pacers on the screens, and though I’m a 76ers fan (and yes, I know they didn’t make the playoffs—pain), I’m still happy to be along for the postseason ride. The bar was lively, and we lucked out with a couple of seats just as the game heated up. It felt good to be out, surrounded by energy and friends, wrapped in that feeling of summer starting to unfold.

    Monday morning was all sunshine. I took a walk to a local market, where I grabbed a coffee and stumbled upon what I’m now officially declaring the best crumb cake I’ve ever had in my life (see below). No exaggeration—it was buttery, crisp, perfectly spiced, and gone too fast.

    We spent the rest of the day on the beach—just the two of us, music playing, homemade cocktails in hand, and a few rounds of our favorite beach game, Tidal Ball. Later, we capped off the day with seafood at a nearby bar before heading home, sun-kissed and content.

    I walked away from the weekend feeling incredibly grounded. Sometimes, in the whirlwind of work and responsibility, it’s easy to forget how much we have to be grateful for. But weekends like this remind me just how much my job has given me. It’s allowed me to build the kind of life I once only dreamed about, filled with meaningful connections, moments of joy, and a place that feels like home.

    Of course, not every day is easy. But the hard days make weekends like this even sweeter. They give the joy more weight. More texture. More meaning.

    Here’s to slowing down, soaking it all in, and finding the sand between our shifts.

  • Wrap It Up

    Today was one of those days where I hit the ground running before I even had a chance to think about coffee. The morning started with a flurry of urgent emails, the kind that seem to multiply the moment you answer one. I bounced between project updates, troubleshooting minor snags, and aligning next steps with various departments. Then came a visit to the hospital, where I met with leadership to discuss upcoming changes. There was a training session on a new workflow, a few check-ins with the ORs and my team, and a steady stream of follow-ups.

    By the time I looked up, I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day — not a great habit, but one I know many of us fall into when the day demands our full presence. Even though I had left the building, I hadn’t exactly “clocked out.” I was still on call and waiting for a few virtual conversations to unfold. It was one of those in-between spaces: the workday technically over, but my brain still half tethered to everything I’d just touched.

    And then came the chicken Caesar wrap.

    There’s a little spot near my house I’d been meaning to try — one of those nondescript places you pass a hundred times before curiosity finally wins. Today, with hunger leading the way and indecision trailing behind, I stopped in and ordered one of my go-to comfort choices: a chicken Caesar wrap. It’s a meal I’ve come to trust over the years. Not flashy, not complicated, but always satisfying — the culinary equivalent of a favorite hoodie.

    What I wasn’t expecting was the sheer size of it. This thing was enormous. It had heft, it had crunch, and the Caesar dressing was just garlicky and tangy enough to remind me why I always fall back on it. I devoured it. Every bite tasted like relief.

    It was exactly what I needed, and it reminded me that nourishment doesn’t have to be grand to be meaningful. Today’s lunch was a reminder that even in the busiest of days, it’s worth slowing down to appreciate the little things that hold us up.

    And now, I’ve got a new favorite lunch spot. My only regret is not taking a photo of it to share. Next time.