Rachel Kolman

wish you were here

St. Augustine, FL 1995  

My first memory of the ocean is all crashing waves and sand dunes. I was eight, and my mom took us on a spontaneous road trip to St. Augustine, a four-hour drive away. We ate fruit roll-ups in the back seat as we chased the early morning light. I remember the Atlantic as a massive, rolling thing, nothing like the Gulf. I remember finding dozens of seashells and exploring the old lighthouse that was used years ago to help ships find their way. My mother’s manic decision to drive us here is unexplained, but not unwelcome.  I felt immediately drawn towards that place where the ocean met sand, mesmerized by the push and pull, and was grateful to find it and keep it close.  

Clearwater Beach, FL 2008  

After I graduated with a writing degree and spent a lazy year at home, my sisters and I explored as many shorelines as possible: Siesta Key, Clearwater, Cocoa, Honeymoon Island. At each new beach, while my sisters talked to boys, I busied myself in a book, the luxury of reading for pure pleasure again. I indulged in fantastical romances as the waves hit the shore and the sun glittered the water, in love with both the real and the fantastical, a yearning to create stories to capture this thrill of when two forces meet.   

Daytona Beach, FL 2014 

On one of my best friend’s thirtieth birthday, we piled into her car and drive up the coast to spend the day at Daytona. It was a postcard June day, the water crystalline and cerulean, the sky pure and porcelain. The beauty felt almost overwhelming, and despite my subconscious effort, I couldn’t find a single thing to critique. At one point, while we’re sitting at a dockside restaurant and having Bloody Marys, she says to me, “I wish I could appreciate this day in the moment, instead of just looking back on this later and reminiscing.” 

Wildwood, NJ 2017 

The beaches in the mid-Atlantic can’t compare to the sandy white of Florida, but still, I find charm in a boardwalk beach. The beach stretches much longer and the waves chillier, so I spent a sunny Saturday warming in a beach chair, finding a sense of home in this new state. In front of me, I watched a small red-headed girl, about five or six, playing in the waves. She giggled as she danced between water and sand, wild hair flying, water splashing up around her feet. I couldn’t help but imagine her as my own, an eager redhead playing in the waves in front of my careful eye, perhaps much like my first trip to the ocean with my mother. I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance.  

Puget Sound, WA 2023  

I stand on the observation deck and watch the crashing water at the Seattle Ballard Locks—a mechanism created to join Lake Union with the Pacific Ocean. It is not a shore in the traditional sense: there is no tide pulling the waves, but a man-made system to lower boats to meet the ocean. This is a new meeting place for me. I never expected I would one day live so far away from the East Coast, so distant from the powder white and crystal blue. So, of course, I find myself in a spot to watch where waters mingle, finding calm in the crashing noise, the balancing of two bodies of water, discovering one another, merging, and ultimately, settling down.

Rachel Kolman is a writer currently based in Seattle, though she called the Gulf Coast home for almost three decades. She received an MFA in Fiction from the University of Central Florida and an MFA in Nonfiction from Rosemont College. Her writing has appeared in Bustle, Cosmopolitan, Healthy Rich, Philadelphia Stories, Auto Focus, Ghost Parachute, and others. She is an avid fan of board games, podcasts, Super Nintendo, and finding as many moments as she can to watch water hit the shore. rachelkolman.wordpress.com