Someday, I want to live on a beach.
A beach on a tiny fishing village in Mexico.
I want to wake up every morning and hear the waves crashing on my front door.
I want to see blue and endless stretch of sand.
I want to make friends with the local stray dogs who run around the beach scavenging for food.
I want to be that friendly old lady who feeds all the stray animals.
I want to be close to the local market, and take daily walks to pick up fresh fish and vegetables.
I want to be walking distance to everything. If not everything, then maybe biking distance.
I want to make friends with all the local shop keepers who spend their morning selling fresh produce and gossiping.
I want to speak Spanish fluently…enough.
I want to be practically relatives with someone who owns a small bar or restaurant, and help out whenever extra help is needed.
I want to feel local, live local, and be local.
I want to find an old Mexican gentleman who will play me Santana music on the guitar during sunset.
I want my daily excercise to be a stroll along the beach.
I want my house to be full of sand and sea treasures.
I want my grandchildren to sleep over sometimes, and build sand castles in my front yard.
I want a simple, easy going life which involves a head full of sea-salted hair and daily doses of vitamin D from the sun.
I want freckles to represent the number of adventures I’ve been on, and scars to show the tenacity of life I choose to live.
I want a life which I can look back on from my beach house and think to myself, “Not that is how you truly live.”