by Whitney Merrill

Main Street, Half Moon Bay, Calif. Photos: Whitney Merrill.

I took a drive down Main Street the other day and realized that my town felt different. It looked the same and nothing appeared to have changed, but it definitely felt different. The stores, people and landscape were all identical and I kept searching for any alteration — nothing. As the likely hypothesis was that the town was the same but it was me that was different, I asked myself what had changed. And then I remembered; we had chosen to live here.

It happened when an opportunity to move presented itself and my wife and I realized that, after five years of living here, it was time to decide — time to choose. I remember saying to her in the midst of our discussion about the potential move across town to a bigger place with a yard for us and our son, “If we do this, we will be staying here for a while, no matter what.” She responded, “Yes, I know — let’s do it!” And that was that.

We had entertained all sorts of options about where we might live around the world — where a job might take us or where our friends and family were living that sounded cool. However, once we made our decision, all our subsequent thoughts and conversations were about how we were going to live and what we would be enjoying in our new place — right here, right now. And this was how I felt as I drove down Main Street — it felt different because this was our hometown, and I smiled.

The town we chose is Half Moon Bay — or, more appropriately, the Coastside communities around Half Moon Bay. We both grew up in a small town on the East Coast, but didn’t meet until just before we moved to Half Moon Bay. We both grew up spending portions of our summers at the beach, and we always wanted to live in a coastal town. After getting married, we moved to Half Moon Bay, met friends, engaged — but it still felt temporary and not quite “home.” Upon returning from a vacation or a visit to see family, we would often refer to “home” as where we grew up, rather than where we were actually living.

A few days ago, I took my son down to the beach in the jog stroller on an unseasonably warm spring afternoon. I had been to this beach many times before but I saw it all for the first time with my newfound awareness that this was our hometown beach. A light breeze had picked up and a colored beach ball began rolling down the length of the beach, miraculously avoiding people, obstacles and surf. As this bright ball held our attention, my son and I followed as it magically wove between families picnicking, children playing in the surf, dogs frolicking, couples sunbathing and waves reaching up the beach to touch the tires of the stroller and my bare feet. A group of teenagers just out of school arrived at the beach en masse, and I thought of my son having the beach as one of his after-school playgrounds as he grew up.

The ball was retrieved at the end of the beach where we had paused to watch an elderly couple embark into the waves on a surfing “date.” They exchanged playful smiles with my son as they stepped into the water and I saw myself and my wife in them, many years from now, filled with memories of our time at the coast. As I paused at the end of the beach I felt a rush of joy and connection with life that I know I will remember forever. Walking back up the beach I thought how I had watched life unfold in front of me as it does every day, only this time I was truly present for it.

This reminded me of something that a local friend had said to me recently about choice being combined with the act of letting go or giving something up. Choice does require you to let some of your thoughts and dreams go. It takes a bit of courage, focus and vision — but it also allows you to be fully present in the here and now. On the way home from work the other day I ran into the same friend while out getting groceries for dinner. We exchanged pleasantries and family updates, then thought better of it and gave each other a big, warm “hello hug.”

I’m still working on who I am and will be for quite a while, but I can at least tell you where I live. My town feels different, and so do I.