For someone from California and in love with summer, I definitely don’t spend as much time by the beach as I should. I mean, I do live in NYC, and getting to a local beach is already kind of a trip if you don’t have a car. But whenever I do get by the water, I make the most of my day. If I could live my perfect dream life, I’d be in a bikini every single day, running my own business out of Bali and eating breakfast of fresh fruits and nuts on a balcony overlooking my own private beach. But like I said, that’s a dream life. The reality is a once a month (maybe two) weekend trip to Montauk. Sundays in Montauk are the best, because it’s when everyone is leaving and I get to stay to roam a little longer with the desolate sands and waves. Always foggier in this part of Long Island, the beaches feel more beautifully melancholic. As if they were sad and missing the color of the people who took up their space just a few hours earlier. But so happy in anticipation of the upcoming weekend when it will have company and a buzzing feeling once again. And the cycle continues. As for me, I get to enjoy the artful and delicate sways of its melancholic in-between state. So much more space. So much more air. So much more free sea. Running around without the extra pairs of curious eyes staring at me jumping around in my bikini. Just me and a friend and the sand beneath our feet. No judgment. I could spin and get dizzy and fall on that lonely sand forever.