Why I Hate the Beach
Let’s face it. Going to the beach is a bad idea. I grew up in the landlocked Middle West, where going for a swim meant visiting a murky lake or a concrete-lined pool, so you’d think I’d be especially happy to be by the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea. Not at all. I have nothing against being in the sea. Swimming is fun. But from what I can tell, most people above the age of nine spend very little time in the water, and what they are doing when they are not in the water does not appeal to me at all.
Let’s start with the foundation: sand. Sand is only slightly better than dirt. True, it is softer and does not soil your skin and clothes as much as actual soil, but it sticks to you and finds its way into towels, clothes, shoes, cars, and, occasionally, bedsheets. It’s also abrasive. They make sandpaper out of it. When the wind blows, it gets all over your stuff and into your hair, mouth, and eyes. Finally, sand may look clean and smooth, but don’t kid yourself. We all know that dogs pee in it, seagulls poop in it, drinkers pour the dregs of their beers into it, and smokers stub out their butts in it. The beach is a combination cat box, ashtray, and trash receptacle that practically naked people frolic in.
Next, let’s consider beach activities. Many people lie on blankets and chairs talking to each other for hours on end. I love all my friends and family members, but as a committed introvert, I cannot imagine being entertained by them for more than an hour — two, at most. I know I risk offending someone by saying so, but the thought of spending an entire day gabbing it up with a group of people — no matter who they are — sounds like punishment. Family reunions are a similar form of torture for me.
Other people do more physical things. Again, the kids seem to be having the real fun building sandcastles and playing with beach toys. Among grownups, beach volleyball is particularly popular, but is this really a good idea? Volleyball is a terrific game, but why play it on a shifting uneven surface in the hot sun? I’ve always thought beach volleyball was an excuse for the fitter species of beach-goer to look heroic while displaying their muscled semi-naked bodies.
And what about that sun? The star at the middle of our solar system makes all life on this planet possible, but direct exposure to its rays for more than a few minutes is not healthy for our hairless species. I’m light-skinned, and as a child, I endured the burn and peel cycle that was so common back in the days when we naively used “suntan lotion” and not 50 SPF sunscreen. Although sunscreen, if carefully applied, will protect you from the burning rays, aerosol sprays are smelly and sticky, and lotions and creams are gooey. As soon as I apply them, I want to run home and take a shower.
Some light-skinned people still think a tanned body is a desirable thing, and they spend hours lying in the sun turning from time to time like a slow-motion rotisserie chicken. This is just wrong. It is my impression that tanned skin is far less fashionable than it used to be, in part because today we know it leads to prematurely aged skin. No one wants that. If you really long for that bronzed look, it’s probably better to do what busy celebrities and politicians do: spray it on with a can.
When I’m at the beach, the thing I want to do most is read a book, but the beach is a terrible environment for this activity. The wind flips your pages, and the sun is too bright and hot. Shade can make reading bearable, but most beach umbrellas provide only partial escape from the sun and are prone to blowing over.
I admit to being conflicted about all of this because the sea is beautiful to see. There is something soothing about the sound of waves endlessly crashing against the land. Like an open fire, birds in flight, or a forest in a windstorm, it is easy to become mesmerized by the constant movement at the border between solid and liquid worlds. We make pilgrimages to the ocean to gaze reverentially into the salty pool from which we crawled 400 million years ago, and we are reminded that somewhere far beyond that watery expanse are other civilizations both different from and similar to our own.
Unfortunately, I am the rare person who can appreciate the remarkable visual beauty of the beach without any inclination to go there. To the consternation of my outdoorsy friends, my motto has always been: “I love nature, but I prefer looking at it through glass.”
My ideal solution is a quiet beach-side bar with a view of the sea. It needn’t be anything fancy. Just a shady place where I can get a cool drink, read my book, and look up from time to time to watch the water rushing toward the land. If this appeals to you, you are welcome to join me. I probably won’t engage you in conversation, but I can guarantee a stress-free, safe, and aesthetically pleasing experience.
Stuart Vyse is a psychological scientist and author of Believing in Magic: The Psychology of Superstition, which won the William James Book Award of the American Psychological Association, and Going Broke: Why Americans (Still) Can’t Hold On To Their Money. His work has appeared in Time, Observer, The Atlantic, The Good Men Project, and Tablet. He writes the “Behavior & Belief” column for Skeptical Inquirer magazine.
This is one of several essays I’ve written about introversion. If you liked it, you make like some of the others in my Introvert’s Guide series:
