I have an informal list running continuously in my head that consists of the reasons I enjoy living in Hampton Roads. Although the list is something I forced myself to compile, I try to dwell on it frequently, as thinking about Virginia's good points helps me to have a positive attitude toward my circumstances, something I struggle with occasionally. My reasoning is that we aren't leaving the area any time soon, so I might as well embrace it.
Lately, however, the list has been receding to the background as I find more and more faults with the area. The most prominent fault as of late? Jellyfish. Just when I became comfortable swimming in the bay and embraced that body of water as a convenient alternative to my pool, out of nowhere I get attacked by one of those horrid creatures.
Jellyfish are something I have never given much thought to. I've seen the strange gelatinous creatures wash up on the shore in the past, their transparent membranes plastered to the sand, rendering them seemingly innocuous. But do not be deceived by their heavenly beauty. From my scant research, these predators will search you out with whatever primitive sensors are available to them. And when they do, any part of their tentacle that touches you leaves a toxin that feels the equivalent of 1,000 bee stings.
My initial reaction to the sting was panic. I instinctively reached for my leg to pull it off, which proved to be a mistake as the diablo just stung my hand and arm as well. With a yelp, I ran onto the beach, screaming to Kevin, "I've been stung by a jellyfish!" over and over. A few feet away a lounging beach couple took that as their cue to come over and strike up a conversation whose topics ranged from the jellyfish sting the guy received the previous day to our adorable boys to where we originated from. Now, ordinarily I am a fan of meeting random people on the beach, but this was hardly the time. I was in PAIN. I was also being actively pursued by a gigantic horsefly who had decided to lunch on my leg. The sight of my now bloodied leg proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, and I hastily made my retreat from both my family and the well-meaning couple with the poor timing. I jumped on my bike and headed for home, where I learned that the best remedy for treating stings is NOT to pee on yourself but to cover yourself with a vinegar-baking soda paste and let that sit for five minutes. (good to know, as it seems much more reasonable and far less disgusting to carry these things in your beach bag than a bottle of urine).
As I rode home I'll admit that I found myself crying. The tears were not so much from the pain-- although believe me, they very well could have been--as from a feeling of betrayal. Betrayal from what I'm not sure. The bay would be a likely candidate. I've been faithfully swimming in that unfamiliar body of water with the hope that I would grow to embrace it, or at the very least to tolerate it, and I felt like I was making progress. With this sting, though, I've been set back quite a bit. I figure it just as easily could have been my two year old getting stung, a lively little boy who ADORES water, waves, and sand. An event like that would have scarred him, much like it did me.
As much as I want to blame the bay for all my woes, I am discovering--or rather, admitting--that overall I am just not at home in this place. The busy roads that qualify biking as an extreme sport, the monotonous concrete blocks, the salt water and stinking jellyfish--it is not my ideal. Of course, I may be overly nostalgic as I'm writing this from my beloved state of Wisconsin in my beloved (I can't believe I just said that) hometown. I've been here for close to two weeks and have been running daily on wooded paths, biking on trails and friendly roads, and swimming in fresh and jellyfish-less waters. I am drinking in the slow-paced life that this place offers and yearning for it, not just because it suits me so perfectly, but because it suits family life so well. Sharing some of the places most precious to me with my boys has been close to a dream come true. Sadly, those places just don't exist for me in Virginia.
One thing Virginia does have, however, is jobs, so there we remain. I hate admitting it, but I've resigned myself to that fact and I feel defeated by it. Hopefully this thing with the jellyfish is just a small battle lost in the war to change my attitude toward Hampton Roads. Right now at this moment, though, it sure feels like I've surrendered the war.
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