My Job Is Just… Beach

So… I got a job.
Not just any job.
I’m a Guest Services Manager at a literal beach club. Like, on the beach. Like, I stand barefoot in the sand making sure people have chairs, umbrellas, towels, and cute little snacks—and somehow, this is my actual life.

It’s a pop-up beach club in Southern California, and I oversee rentals and retail. No booze, no bar drama, no toxic restaurant energy. Just sun, sand, the occasional mad rush of tourists needing lounge chairs immediately, and then… stillness.

And let me tell you: the stillness is nice.
The lack of stress is nice.
This might be the first job I’ve had in years that doesn’t feel like it’s siphoning the life out of me.

My hair’s getting blonder. My skin’s getting tanner. I’m slowly starting to look like someone who doesn’t cry in bathroom stalls or need three espresso shots to fake a smile.
I live in a van.
I park near the ocean.
I even SOMETIMES rinse my feet off with a hose and call it a shower. (Don’t worry, I still have an ACTUAL shower almost every day)

And honestly?
I love it.

This job, this moment—it’s not forever. But it feels like the right kind of now. A chance to make some money while working on me.
To rebuild quietly.
To show up every day to salt air, gentle chaos, and a version of myself that’s learning to breathe without fear.

Beach life isn’t the escape.
It’s the grounding.

And I’m grateful.
Even if I do still get sand everywhere.