I don’t know how to surf and I’ve never been to Hawaii, but all I seem to be able to think about is the ocean waves and the sea salt. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent seventy days—and counting—stuck in my home but even a trip to Target sounds exhilirating now. Not to sound cliché, but also to be cliché, all I want to do is escape.
My destination de rêve would have to be somewhere in the south of France (how’s my French?), maybe a Mediterannean locale, or even a Pacific beach town? Either way, I’m feeling in the mood to drink wine outside, specifically at that time of day right after golden hour before sunset really begins, you know what time I’m talking about? What can we call that, rose hour?
While I don’t think I’ll be jetsetting on a plane anytime soon, unless it’s back to my apartment in New York (which trust me, doesn’t really seem like a destination quite yet), I can still drink espresso in a robe while listening to Harry Styles’ Cherry on repeat and daydream about acquiring a sudden talent for surfing. At least my vibes can emulate a dream this month.